


What It's For

by itshysterekal



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Other, Whump, au au, basically everyone dies at some point, h/c, multiple points really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:00:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itshysterekal/pseuds/itshysterekal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic is for fixing things, and that's exactly what Quentin intends to do. Determined to salvage his relationship with Alice, he screws up a spell and accidentally lands himself in the future.</p><p>*There will be several different ships (though queliot is probably end game) and a lot of different warnings (because my default is whump), which I'll post in relevant chapters' end notes if you want to know when to expect these things. Contains adult content and themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I shouldn't really be posting this yet, but I'm confident chapter one isn't going to change and it's hurting me that my most recent fic is that April Fool's joke. Plus I've been working really hard on it and feel really good about it, so here you go? 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are in the end note.

Quentin’s body was humming, as he slowly started to wake. He moaned a little, wondering if he’d taken something because his whole body feel like it was glowing. He was underwater, in the perfect temperature, and he never wanted to surface. The closer he got to the light, however, he realized he was in bed and that good feeling radiating through him was his dick being sucked. He was awake now, treading water and gasping in the air he’d been missing. “Fuck, Alice-“ he groaned, but the head bobbing under the sheet stopped and pulled away, leaving him shockingly cold.

“Excuse me?” 

The cold froze Quentin completely when he heard the distinctly non-Alice voice and none other than Eliot Waugh appeared from under the covers, wiping his mouth in a weirdly dignified way. He had a look like he couldn’t make up his mind whether to be amused or insulted. “Did you really just-?”

The ice around his limbs finally thawed and Quentin reacted. First he pulled away, practically falling out of the bed, and grabbed his junk self-consciously. Then he gave Eliot an angry look. “You can’t just come into my room and- and-“

He looked around. This wasn’t his room. He’d never seen this place before. Eliot’s face changed. He’d been clearly been ready to tease Quentin mercilessly and never let him live something down, but now he looked concerned and worried. “Quentin?” 

“What the fuck is happening?” Quentin demanded, starting to feel dizzy. “What did you do to me? Where am I?” 

Eliot got out of bed and Quentin had to look away because they were both naked. “Quentin, sweetheart-“

“Don’t call me-“

“You’re home-“

“-sweetheart.” 

There was a painful silence where Eliot tried to touch his arm and Quentin flinched away. “Clothes,” Eliot said abruptly and, aside from an almost imperceptible pinch in his voice, he sounded perfectly calm as if this happened all the time. 

Quentin took the clothes. He didn’t recognize them, but they fit him as perfectly as if they’d been bought for him. That was a disturbing thought. Had this been planned? He hurriedly pulled the clothes on and folded his arms self-consciously over his chest. “Just because we- we did that thing once doesn’t mean you can just- Where is this? How did you even get me here?” 

Eliot pulled his shirt down a bit around his waist before looking at Quentin with that same worried look. “Quentin, I think you should go to a doctor.” 

“Why? Did you do something to me?” 

“No, Quentin. Well, aside from moving in with you. We’ve lived here, together, for almost three years now.” Quentin couldn’t help but be scared by the way Eliot emphasized the word together, the slow and deliberate way he said it all, and the look in his eyes as he said it like he was trying to work out if Quentin had hit his head or something. This couldn’t be real. 

Quentin held his head and tried to think. What was the last thing he remembered? Eliot and Margo, waking up with them, Alice… Being desperate to earn her forgiveness, not knowing how… “Shit. Shit shit shit,” he said. 

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Eliot mumbled. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat and I’ll call the doctor.” 

“No, I know what’s going on now. I was a little fuzzy, but I remember now. This isn’t real.” 

Eliot looked shaken and Quentin wondered what he had to do to end this and get back to his body at Brakebills. He tried a few motions with his fingers but nothing happened. Eliot took a quick breath before saying, “Okay, so we’ll skip breakfast.” 

Quentin shrugged off the hand that was trying to guide him toward the exit. “There is nothing wrong with me and please stop touching me, okay?! I just need to end the spell.” 

“Quentin, this isn’t a spell. This is your life. Something’s happened to your memory.” Eliot had a pleading tone and Quentin did his best to remember this wasn’t really Eliot. It was just a projection. 

“No, it’s not. You’re not real. This is all just a possible future. I cast a probability spell- on my own, stupid I know- and clearly I was testing the wrong hypothesis because this… I mean, this makes no sense. In what universe…?” He trailed off when he saw Eliot’s face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“And yet you managed to anyway,” came the clipped response. He sighed and met Quentin’s gaze. “This is your life, Quentin. It’s our life.” 

Quentin tried a few more finger movements and shook his hands out in frustration. He was really tired of trying not to argue with a hallucination. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, experimenting with a few motions. He could feel the magic, but it was painful. It felt like hundreds of needles were pricking his fingers at once. Suddenly they were wrapped in warmth, surprisingly soft hands pressed his between them like a prayer. Opening his eyes, he knew he had to look terrified. “We’re going to the doctor,” Eliot said gently. “I won’t push you, Quentin. If you don’t remember the last few years, if you need space, I’ll give it to you. Just let me get you checked out first, okay? Please?” 

“Why won’t the spell end?” Quentin asked in a tiny voice. 

“Because it’s not a spell.” 

“Then why did I wake up here right after casting it?” 

Eliot looked at him for a moment clearly debating something internally. His hands were still warm over Quentin’s and for a moment it seemed like they might hug. If he weren’t so focused on Alice and not ever going near Eliot or Margo again, it probably would have seemed like a great turn of events. “What probability spell?” 

“The one we cast to try to figure out what to do about the Beast. I did it on my own. Without a coin.” 

“Shit,” Eliot said and Quentin’s hands were cold again as the other man turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. Quentin had never seen him do something to jeopardize his perfectly styled hair that way. Was it because this Eliot was that comfortable with him in this future, or was he genuinely that distressed? Eliot turned back and Quentin prepared himself to find out. “We’re still going to the doctor, okay?” 

“What aren’t you telling me?” And why did he have a feeling he didn’t want to know? 

“Just agree that we’re getting you checked out.” 

“Fine,” Quentin rolled his eyes. 

Eliot gave him a distressed look that said he clearly didn’t want to talk about whatever this was. He half expected the man to go for a drink, but he finally spoke instead. “You did cast a spell like that at Brakebills, but that was like… seven years ago.” 

“Okay, so do you remember how I ended it?” 

“Quentin, you were in a coma for like a week.” 

That was a terrifying thought. Did that mean he was going to be stuck here? Had he damaged something in himself? Was that why he’d been in a coma? “But I had to have told you how I got back. If we were serious like this or… Maybe I would’ve told Alice. Can we call Alice?” 

Eliot was too quiet. Something bad was about to happen. The silence was too heavy and the eye contact was too intense. 

“Quentin, Alice is dead.” 

He swallowed and whatever he was feeling sluiced down his throat uncomfortably to settle into his stomach like lead. His world shrank in on itself and grew dark. He thought maybe the spell was ending, but no. His vision was tunneling. He grappled blindly behind him for the wall. “How?” 

“When we faced the Beast. She stopped him. She saved us, but… she didn’t make it.” 

“Okay,” Quentin nodded. He felt unsteady, but this was clearly why he’d seen this time instead of one where he could actually figure out how to make up with Alice. “How do I stop that?” 

Eliot scoffed a little. “Quentin, even if your probability spell sent you to the actual future instead of just a guess at it… There’s nothing you could have done. Nothing any of us could have done. He was too strong.” 

“Obviously not if she stopped him,” Quentin argued. 

“She went niffin, Quentin.” 

Shaking his head, Quentin slid down the wall, feeling wrecked. “I could stop her, I could do whatever spell she-“

Wordlessly, Eliot pulled him into a hug and Quentin was too numb to protest. He realized he was crying in the arms of one Eliot Waugh and maybe it should have felt wrong, but it didn’t quite. He could understand how this might have happened even if it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Alice, but right now Alice was a dagger that somehow managed to pierce every organ in his body at once. Thinking of her was agony because what if he couldn’t stop it? What if he never made it up with her? What if it happened while he was stuck in this spell? “How do I end this? How do I get out of it?” Eliot cupped Quentin’s cheek and pushed a tear away with his thumb. It was tender and nice, but he was too upset to appreciate it. He could only feel the pity radiating from the other man’s gaze. 

“I don’t think you can,” he admitted. “When you woke up… I think whatever you did to alter the spell eliminated the off switch. You didn’t talk about it much, but once you did say you thought you’d seen every possible future.” 

“Shit,” Quentin breathed. Eliot was serious. This was too meta. Why would the spell know about itself? He couldn’t actually be in the future… right? What if he’d screwed up time? Why would Eliot in a simulation know about something as specific as a coma? Maybe there was time to change it. Maybe if he could end this early, he could change everything. He could save Alice, stop the Beast… He didn’t know how to approach her, but after hearing what this potential future Eliot had told him, Quentin didn’t care. He didn’t need to be with her nearly so much as he needed her alive. 

“When I say doctor, I mean the magic kind. I don’t think we go to the regular one at this point.” 

Quentin was still too numb to argue, so he let Eliot help him up and put on the socks and shoes that were too comfortable and well fit to him to not look familiar. He could feel the dents his own feet had left in the insoles from breaking them in. These were his shoes, and they felt incredibly real. In fact, he realized, this all felt much more real than the Beast probability spell had. What if this was a real future? What if he’d figured out how to go to the future or an alternate timeline? Or the future of an alternate timeline? What if this really was his future? He looked at Eliot as he talked to someone on his cell. His words weren’t important. It was the way he carried himself, the look on his face. This was definitely an older Eliot. There was no trace of the binge drinking party animal Quentin knew. This Eliot was mature and tender and nurturing. His forehead was creased in worry as he spoke to someone over the phone.

Finally, Eliot finished the call and gave him a tight smile. “They said just come in and they’ll see us as soon as they can.” Quentin nodded. What if this wasn’t the future? What if Eliot was right and this was his life? What if he just had amnesia and it went back to that spell? That was possible and he had to at least entertain the possibility that maybe the reason he only remembered up to that coma was that it had done something to him and prevented anything from before being erased. If that was the case and this was real, he was inadvertently putting Eliot through hell and he owed it to this version of himself to try to not do that anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

Eliot looked up from the shoes he was tying. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He reached, probably to take Quentin’s hand, but seemed to think better of it. 

Quentin stared at the hand, replaying the arrested movement over in his mind a few times before reaching his own to give a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not doing it on purpose or anything, but what I’m doing is hurting you and that’s shitty.” 

There was the self-deprecating laugh that looked like Quentin’s Eliot. “Thanks.” 

With an awkward nod, Quentin withdrew his hand and sat awkwardly until Eliot was ready. They took the Brakebills alumni key and were suddenly back on campus. It looked different, but Quentin couldn’t quite place why. Everything was pretty much the same as it had been yesterday (or however long it had been since he’d cast that spell in this reality) aside from the unfamiliar faces. They were walking a bit closer together, as if Quentin’s future body had the memories Quentin didn’t and wanted to be close to the man he’d apparently shacked up with. He was weirdly anxious and the familiarity of Eliot was weirdly comforting, so he didn’t bother trying to correct the behavior. 

They were ushered in almost as soon as they walked in the door and he recognized the nurse as the same one who was working at Brakebills in his time. Or when his memory stopped, if it turned out he was just losing his mind. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely that that was what was happening. It wasn’t like he had a clean bill of mental health. She looked at him through a bunch of different colored lenses, sprinkled something on him that made him sneeze, held a cactus up to his head for a few minutes before letting out an annoyed huff and putting it back on the desk. She pulled out an amulet and used it as a focus for a few spells before finally packing it all in and sitting down in front of them. It occurred to Quentin that even though she’d been examining him the whole time, this was the first time she’d given Eliot and him the weight of being actual people in the room. They might as well have not even been there while she poked around at him. 

“So, I think you’re fine,” she said simply. 

“But he doesn’t remember the past seven years!” 

“That is because his brain is seven years younger than his body,” she said and leaned back, crossing her legs. “I mean, the brain itself is probably the right age with all the cellular decay and whatever, but the memories in there… Definitely a few years short. But there’s no trace of any kind of loss. I think we need to seriously entertain the idea that Quentin here is not in his proper time.” 

Quentin didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. “The last thing I remember before today is trying to cast an altered probability spell. Eliot says it put me in a coma.” 

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Well, I’ve never heard of those actually putting you into the future…”

“Maybe this isn’t the future. Maybe it’s just a really elaborate projection of a probable outcome.” 

She hummed a little to herself as If amused by what he’d said. “I’m not a projection of anything.” 

“How do I know that? Maybe I’m just hallucinating.” 

“Quentin, if you were hallucinating, how would asking about it help?” 

Quentin gave him a lost look but Eliot was focused on the nurse. Maybe ignoring him was helping the other man somehow. Quentin sank into himself a bit. He felt like shit because this seemed too real and he couldn’t convince himself not to care about Eliot’s feelings. He could remember screaming at Eliot and Margo, telling them they’d ruined his life. He’d been overreacting and he knew it as soon as he got out of the situation. Sometimes his logic broke. Sometimes things seemed catastrophic and he reacted to the way his brain saw them instead of in a way that reflected reality. Some people might say it was a depression thing. 

The nurse was leaving and Quentin looked up in alarm. Before he could ask what they were doing to fix this, Eliot put a hand on his knee. As soon as Quentin’s eyes fell on it, it disappeared. “Sorry,” Eliot mumbled. “Forgot.” 

Shrugging, barely keeping the panic at bay, he replied, “It’s fine.” 

Eliot met his eyes. “You should know, Quentin.” He opened his mouth but for once, Eliot Waugh seemed lost for words. 

“Take your time. Apparently I’m here until I die and have to live through another reality.” 

“That’s just it. I don’t think you are,” Eliot told him. “I don’t know the details, but I know you’re in for a rough ride. When you first got back… Jesus, Quentin, you looked broken. You didn’t speak for weeks beyond ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘can I have some water?’ Whatever comes next… you’re going to see some shit, Quentin. And I mean shit. It’s going to mess you up. But I want you to know, you can come to me. I know I was a mess then, but sometimes it takes someone else who’s broken to help fix you. For a long time I was drifting and I didn’t think I needed anyone or any kind of purpose, but I did. I needed family and that was you. It doesn’t have to be like this exactly, like me and my Quentin. But just… know that you probably are going to need me as much as I need you.” 

Quentin swallowed. There was a knot in his throat. This was definitely not the Eliot he knew. He just nodded because he didn’t think he could formulate a real answer and he was too nervous to think about what had just been revealed to him. About looking _broken_. “Can we go now?” 

Eliot nodded and they headed to the portal room to get sent back to the place that was home to this Eliot and some version of Quentin. 

By the time they got back, Quentin had made up his mind not to sleep in the guest room and to just stay with Eliot. They would just sleep, and Eliot seemed floored by that concession and Quentin decided it had been the right choice. So when he woke up alone in a shitty, cracked-ceiling apartment, he let his head fall back on the pillow with an exasperated, “Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: (major) character death- off screen/past/referenced


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in the end notes. 
> 
> I've got the next chapter drafted, so hopefully it'll be up tomorrow. Side note: I have so many feelings about where this fic is going. I'm literally having dreams about this fic. Side side note: my F and T keys sometimes don't work the way they should. I've edited everything I've posted, but sometimes something slips through. So if something makes no sense and you can't even guess, try adding one or both of those letters somewhere.

Quentin was alone. That was the first thing he figured out. This was definitely a one person residence. There were no clothes for anyone else, and the kitchen seemed to be stocked more with recreational drugs than food. Now that he was away from the Eliot, he didn’t know what he’d seen in that future or why it felt right. Now, he just felt miserable and ready for whatever was in the orange pill bottle in the fridge. Alice was dead and Quentin had no idea how to stop it. He grabbed the bottle and shut the fridge. His hands shook as he struggled with the child proof cap. It finally popped off, ricocheted against the fridge, knocking some magnets and their contents to the floor, before hitting him in the eye.

He bent double, sending some of the pills flying out of the bottle as he jerked violently. “Fuck!” he yelled. He probably had neighbors who wouldn’t appreciate that, but this was a shithole apartment and he guessed the rest of the tenants in the building had similar shitholes. No one living in a shithole expects quiet, polite neighbors. Maybe they were all squatters. Maybe Quentin was the only one. If he was, he probably deserved it. 

The sting receded and he blinked experimentally, looking at the papers remaining on the fridge to see if he’d lost any of his sight when the cap hit his eye. He temporarily forgot the pills when he saw an envelope that had been hidden. It had his name on it, in his handwriting. There were a few stains on it and a shoe print. It had clearly been there for a while, ended up on the floor, and finally forgotten behind the takeout menus that were now on the floor. He reached for it slowly, half expecting it to go up in flames or to try to fly away. “I’m not chasing after you, so if you want to be read, you better not fucking move,” he muttered to it. It was amazing how little he cared about how absolutely out of his mind he sounded. 

It was a short note, but hard to read. The writing was definitely his, but it was rushed and careless and took him some effort to decipher. 

_You’ve obviously figured out how it works by now. I don’t know how many futures you’ve seen so far, but you can obviously feel what I feel just like you’ve felt for every other Quentin you were temporarily a part of. You die, the spell ends. You also kill whichever Quentin you’re possessing and you have my permission to let it be me._

Quentin just stared at it. Was he asking himself to kill himself? Or his future self? He ripped up the note and shoved it into the sink, turning on the water to wash it down the disposal. It churned like it was trying to argue with him and groaned as if to ask why he’d had the nerve to ask it to behave like an actual garbage disposal. “Should’ve figured nothing in this place would work.” 

He stopped. The note had said he felt what his future self felt in that reality. That explained why he’d been weirdly attracted to Eliot. There was no way Quentin wanted that future, absolutely none. This version of him was slightly less alien. Quentin knew hopeless and depressed. He was probably off his meds judging by the way he seemed to be killing himself slowly. He clearly didn’t have the nerve to actually go through with it if he’d asked his past self to take care of it though. Quentin wondered if this version of him was extra depressed because he was alone or if he was alone because of his depression. Maybe both. 

It didn’t have to be hopeless. If he just kept exploring these futures, he could figure out what had happened. There’d been a phone on the night stand in the bed room. Quentin rushed for it only to find it had no service. That was fine. He only wanted the contacts. He opened up the list and saw Alice’s name at the top. He was going to call her just in case. He was about to head out and see if he could find a working pay phone when he realized the shithole had a landline. It even had a dial tone. He dialed the number under Alice’s name. The first ring put his heart in his throat and the next two caused it to swell. A man answered. Quentin was about to apologize and say he’d gotten the wrong number when he realized he recognized the voice. “Penny?” 

“Who is this?” 

“Um. It’s Quentin.” He stood there, completely dumb now that he’d said that. 

The silence didn’t last too long. “Okay. Did you want something or were you just seeing if I still lived here?” 

Lived there. So it was a landline too. Did that mean Penny and Alice-? “I need to talk to Alice,” he blurted out and knew it was the wrong choice when the line went dead. “Shit.” He dialed the number again and let it ring. Penny would have to unplug the thing to get rid of him. 

“Quentin I swear to god if you don’t leave me alone-“ 

“I’m not Quentin!” he said because it was the only thing he could think of to keep Penny on the line. “I mean, I am, but I’m not this Quentin. I’m from the past. I’m just trying to figure out how to fix everything. Please.” 

The line went dead again and Quentin was in the middle of redialing when he heard Penny’s voice right behind him. “Explain.” Quentin whirled, wondering how Penny knew where to find him so easily. He pushed it out of his mind because the question was immediate and the traveler could leave as easily and quickly as he’d arrived and Quentin needed him to stay. 

“I fucked with a probability spell,” Quentin told him. “I’m told it put me in a coma for a week while I cycled through, like, every possible future ever. I just need to know what happened here. I need to fix it.” 

Penny stared at him with an unreadable but unmistakably Penny look. “Shit, so this is right after…?” Penny made a face as Quentin nodded. Maybe he should want to hit Penny, but it all felt so long ago. Probably because this version of him was apparently numb to everything except the urge to self destruct. “Shit. So, like, how many futures have you seen?” 

“That’s not important, okay? I don’t know how this works or when I’ll get whisked off to the next one, so can you just fill me in? The last one we stopped the Beast when Alice went niffin.” 

“Niffin?” Penny repeated. He scoffed. “Alice never went niffin. That was your friend Julia.” 

That was an unexpected blow. He swallowed against the rising bile in his turning stomach and tried to focus on the good news. “So Alice is alive?” 

“No. Shit, Quentin. The Beast is the least of your worries. It’s what happens after, when the Neitherlands-“ 

“Shut up!” Quentin replied quickly. He was willing to fuck with the future, but not that much. “Don’t tell me any of that. I just need to know how to save Alice.” 

“You can’t,” Penny said simply. “But she might die a little less miserably if you leave her alone.” 

“What happened?” 

He couldn’t explain why he needed to know so badly, but he did. He had to know how it happened because there had to be a way to stop it. Julia rose to the front of his mind and he knew he had to try to help her too. There had to be a way to stop the Beast without someone dying. There had to be. 

“God, I forgot how annoyingly loud you think,” Penny grumbled. “You can’t save either of them, okay? So you should probably just kill yourself like… you… told yourself. Jesus, this is fucked up.” 

“I’m going to fix this,” Quentin insisted. “What’s the point of magic if I can’t? What’s the point of knowing the future if there isn’t some option that makes everything okay?” 

Penny scoffed and shook his head as he pulled up his hood. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Quentin?” he asked as he stepped back. “There is no point. Except to make you realize how pointless everything is.” With that, he was gone. Quentin stared unfeelingly at the spot he’d occupied for several minutes before he realized he was doing it. Was that a nod? Was that what it was like when someone nodded off? Was he that much of a drug addict? Quentin didn’t want to do hard drugs. He didn’t want any of this. He’d rather be stuck with Eliot than see all of his friends be this hopeless. He scrolled through the numbers and decided that, while he preferred the Eliot future over this mess, he could do with calling someone else. 

Unfortunately, when he dialed Margo’s number, Eliot picked up. “Margo’s phone, this is Eliot.” 

Quentin almost hung up, but he didn’t have anyone else to call if Julia was dead too. “It’s Quentin and I need to talk to someone who will give me more than answers than Penny and it’s kind of urgent.” 

“Quentin who?” 

“Shit.” Quentin realized everyone in this reality must be fucked. Eliot was clearly high and out of his mind. 

“Relax, I’m just messing with you. What’s so urgent?” 

Quentin debated for a second if they should meet in person, but he didn’t know how long he had in this reality and he wanted all the information he could get. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here,” he told Eliot honestly. “So I need you to stay on the line.” 

“Shit, Quentin. What did you take and how long ago?” 

“What?” Quentin thought about the orange bottle, but he hadn’t had time to take any of the pills in there and how would Eliot even know that he had. He replayed his words in his head. “Shit, no, not like that. I’m Quentin from the past, okay? I’m trying to figure out how to unfuck the world so can you just tell me what’s going on? I know how Julia killed the Beast. I know Alice is dead. I don’t know how, and obviously Margo made it…” 

He heard Eliot let out a breath of air. “You’re what-? From the past? If I tell you all this shit, is that going to fuck me up? What if I tell you something and you go change it so I end up like you? Or worse, Alice.” 

“What does that mean?” Quentin asked, alarmed. “What could be worse than a suicidal, lonely drug addict?” He cursed under his breath when he realized he’d asked that last question aloud. 

“Where are you living now, Quentin?” The tone sounded pitying and Quentin hated him for it. 

“I don’t have any clue, okay? I just woke up in this shithole and I’ve been trying to figure everything else out.” 

“Ah, the shithole. I know it well. I’ll be over in half an hour with some decent alcohol.” 

Before Quentin could argue, the line went dead. He was getting really tired of people hanging up on him. He put the phone down and decided to give up. He grabbed one of the orange pills and took it because he was angry and frustrated and it seemed like the thing to do even if it didn’t seem like a good idea. Within minutes, his brain had gone fuzzy and he couldn’t remember why the answers were so important. This future sucked, so what was he going to learn here? 

There was a knock on the door, but Quentin had somehow ended up on this couch and his body was way too heavy to do something as Herculean as answering the door. It sounded like someone was jimmying the lock and he grinned lazily at Eliot as he came in and sat down with the bottle of wine. “I’m a water balloon,” Quentin told him conversationally. He knew it sounded ridiculous, but it was a really apt analogy for the fluid heaviness that was his body. 

“So this wine is just for me then,” Eliot confirmed before popping the cork out and taking a swig. “Should’ve waited for the good stuff, Q.” 

“The last reality I was in,” Quentin said, because his mouth seemed determined to talk about anything it possibly could, “we were together. Like a couple. I woke up with my dick in your mouth.” 

“Okay, well that’s not happening,” Eliot said as his eyebrows rose. 

“Good. No, I know,” Quentin confirmed. “That’s not my future. That’s some other Quentin. I don’t think that one’s very likely. I’m not gay.” 

“Okay, Quentin.” 

“Have you had the orange pills? They are… really good. No wonder I was craving one as soon as I woke up. I can’t even remember why I cared so much about the past when I could just be here like this… like all day.” 

Eliot turned to face him and Quentin let his water balloon head flop sideways to look back. “Quentin, if you wanted company, you could have just asked. You didn’t need to make up some story about being from the past.” 

“I didn’t make it up. I altered that probability spell. I’m in a coma right now. I kind of wanted to be mad at you still because, you know, the thing with you and Margo… but it feels like a long time ago. And nothing matters. Everything is just… floaty… and I'm water balloons.” 

He was getting tired and maybe that was part of the appeal of these pills. He could see that. Feel really good and then pass out on a high note. Being this Quentin wasn’t so bad. Eliot pulled him into a hug and that was really, really nice. “Hugs are really good when you’re high,” Quentin mumbled. 

“The orange pills do sound pretty good,” Eliot agreed. “This is just because I feel sorry for you. I’m not sucking your dick.” 

“Good because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna fall asleep soon. My head is a water balloon.” 

“You said that already.” 

“This version of me probably needs help,” Quentin said. “He does a lot of drugs. He’s probably going to kill himself one of these days. His liver’s probably worse than yours. Eliot?” 

“Yeah, Q?” 

Quentin let his eyes fall shut. “Did you ever find Chatwin’s Torrent?” Eliot didn’t answer. “Eliot?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Quentin pulled away in alarm, head suddenly and confusingly clear. “Margo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: drug abuse/addiction, suicidal ideation, (major) character deaths- past/mentioned


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings on this chapter. Continuation of ideas from chapters one and two. If you found nothing objectionable there, I don't think there's anything in here you need warnings for. (Correct me if I'm wrong, please.)
> 
> (Currently working on the next chapter and wow I could write a whole fic in that AU. I'm a little too excited about it. It's so completely different from these first three.)

Something was playing on the TV and his head was resting in Margo’s lap. He pulled away. “Shit,” he cursed and started pacing. He had no clue what was happening in that other reality. He didn’t know how any of it had happened, so he had no clue how to stop it. At least Eliot was there. Maybe Eliot would help that version of Quentin. His head was clear now and he was glad he didn’t listen to that Quentin and kill himself. He hoped he hadn’t anyway. Those pills were half empty and he’d only taken one, so clearly they weren’t lethal. 

“Quentin. Quentin!” Margo all but shouted. She looked too annoyed to be concerned. Maybe this Quentin paced and freaked out like this a lot. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Are we dating?” he asked. It was probably the most ridiculous answer he could have given. The look she gave him had the words _Excuse me?_ written all over it. “Sorry, um. I’m Coma Quentin.” She gave him another look that said the same thing in a slightly different tone and he launched into the explanation. He was already tired of it. She seemed much calmer about it all than he did. 

“So that explains a lot,” was all she offered. “Come on.” He sat back down next to her where she gestured and she threw her legs over his lap. It wasn’t clear whether it was a comfort level thing or a way to keep Quentin trapped. He kept his hands awkwardly by his own legs, not quite comfortable enough to rest his hands on her. “So, I’m going to make this one real easy for you Quentin: we’re not dating.” Quentin all but sighed in relief until she said, “We’re married. After Eliot got Alice killed and then offed himself, it was pretty much just you and me. And, no, this marriage isn’t stupid, okay? You don’t know me, but my Quentin does and he thinks I’m fabulous.” 

“O-okay,” he replied. He’d gone from pulling teeth to information to having all of it dumped on him at once like a giant pile of shit. He tried to pick his way through it without letting it get on him or pull him in. “What do you mean ‘got Alice killed’?” 

“Right. You didn’t make it to Fillory with us. You found some other way. Well, on our way, Eliot managed to fuck everything up, then decided to get high even though there were fucking magic warriors out for our blood… She didn’t even make it to the Fillory fountain.” 

Quentin nodded. That was different than what he’d been told before. It was worse because it happened sooner, when he couldn’t do anything about it, but it was different. Different was good. That meant some things could be changed. He needed that hope. “I’m going to fix it,” he told her. “I promise.” 

She kicked him a little too hard for it to be playful. That had clearly been the wrong answer. “You realize your idea of fixing it means you’re basically telling me you want to wreck my marriage, right? Jesus, I forgot how much of a shithead you used to be.” She pulled her legs away and folded her arms like she was sulking. 

He looked up at the TV and gestured to it. “Not that I don’t believe you, but you like this Project Runway stuff and-“ 

“It’s America’s Next Top Model,” she interrupted. “You like it even if you won’t admit it. You asked to watch this one tonight even though it was your turn to make me watch Star Trek. There were some previews. Your favorite didn’t eat enough and passed out under the makeup lights in the dressing room.” She didn’t look at him and he thought she was done but she clearly wasn’t. “And I’ll have you know it was under protest because, contrary to popular belief when you come from, I’m not just some vapid party girl, okay? I’m like a more fun Major Kira.” 

“Wait, I started you on DS9?” 

“No, Quentin. You started me on the original series and even made me watch the animated one. And I like them. All of them. Except that weird one from the original where some weird disembodied space hand held the ship and the episode was about trying to get it to let go.” 

He laughed a little. “Yeah, that one really didn’t need a whole episode.” 

“It’s a classic though,” she said in unison with him. Gazing at her for a moment, he could see why they might fit. “Yeah, I know you, Quentin. Better than you know.” 

He nodded a little in concession. Quentin didn’t dislike Margo, but he’d never thought about her that much. He always took her at face value, but maybe he shouldn’t. “The night when we…” he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The night we put Eliot to bed. That was the real you, wasn’t it? The one who worries about her friend and wants to fix everyone.” 

She relaxed a little and then a lot, putting her legs back in his lap as she hunkered down in the couch. “Eliot and I were drawn to each other because we both had shitty families. Neither of us really understood the value of having a good one because we’d survived without it. You could say you and I were drawn together by that same loneliness.” 

He decided keeping his hands down was too awkward and just went for it, piling them on top of her legs like she was an arm rest. She smiled. “The control’s on your side. Would you mind turning that off so my Quentin doesn’t have to start over or rewind too much?” He did as she asked and settled into the couch a bit more. “So tell me what other futures you’ve seen, coma boy.” 

“Just two,” he said quietly. “I was with Eliot in one. He told me this whole future trip messes me up.” 

“Yeah,” Margo agreed. She took his hand and traced the back of it. “One of the first things you tried to do when you got back- from Fillory, not the coma-“ 

“I thought you said I didn’t get to Fillory.” 

“With us,” Margo confirmed. “You found your own way. There was time travel involved. We didn’t even know you’d still be in the coma when we got back.” 

Quentin took a minute to wrap his brain around what she was telling him. “So are you saying that, for me, I woke up from the coma and you all had already killed the Beast but then I have to go back in time to help?” 

“Yeah. Keep up, Quentin. Like I was trying to say, one of the first things you did when you got back from Fillory was try to save Eliot. You failed, obviously, but he was going to kill himself one way or another. Fucking asshole.” 

Quentin went quiet. He wrapped his hand around hers because he could hear the pain in her words even if it presented as anger. “I’m sorry.” He was. He had to save everyone. He just had to. Every future he went to, he saw pain and he wanted to heal it. He wondered briefly if Healing might be his discipline. He wanted it to be. Then again, if it were, he’d probably have been assigned to it. “Do I ever get assigned a discipline?” he wondered aloud and she actually laughed. Good. He liked when she laughed. 

“I’m so glad you haven’t completely lost that dorky thing you do where your thoughts make you jump to the most random shit with zero segue.” She sat up and wrapped her arms around his neck and he swallowed thickly as she drew close. He should absolutely not kiss her, no matter how much his body wanted to. “I know you though, Quentin. Ask me what you really want to ask me.” 

“W-what do I want to ask you?” he stammered. He couldn’t think of anything except how close and warm and solid she was. She was beautiful and he felt connected to her in a way that reminded him of right before they kissed and everything went to shit. This connection felt more powerful, augmented by the history between Margo and this version of himself, and he really couldn’t remember why he was so concerned about staying away from her a minute ago. She smiled sadly. 

“You want to know how you failed to save Eliot.” 

He opened his mouth to argue, but his brain caught up with her words and she was right. “I just want everyone to be okay,” he said in a quiet voice. 

She ran her fingers through his hair and he let his eyes fall shut as he leaned into the touch. “He tricked you,” she said quietly. “You wouldn’t leave his side for a couple days after, and he convinced you he felt steady. Said he thought he could finally eat something. You went to get some food for him and…” 

She trailed off. She’d been so matter-of-fact about the story until that point. His eyes slotted open and he searched her face. This part of the story hurt her and she didn’t want to tell it. “It’s okay. I can figure out the rest.” 

He started to ask if something had happened, what she meant by ‘a couple days after’ (After what?), but she spoke first and derailed his thoughts. “It was my gun. He used my gun.” He hugged her but she didn’t cry. Quentin wondered if Margo ever let herself truly cry when she wasn’t messed up on emotion magic and booze. “And I know you’re thinking you’ll just have me get rid of it or hide it, but he would’ve found something else. He planned the moment. He had it all planned. He was probably trying to kill himself when he got us ambushed in the Neitherlands. When he got Alice killed. He said it was because he was high, but I know how a high Eliot acts, and that wasn’t it.” 

Quentin filed the information away because Margo was upset and he didn’t think she was going to tell him anything else that justified making her mood worse. “I’ll get it anyway. At least it won’t be your gun. If I can’t save him, maybe I can save you some pain.” 

She laughed thickly. “There’s my Quentin. I knew he had to be in you somewhere. You’re kind of disgusting when you get all sweet like that though, so stop.” 

She smiled as she said it and he returned the expression. Her eyes flicked to his lips and he couldn’t help but glance at hers. She leaned closer and he should have stopped her, but he was still so focused on making her feel better that he didn’t realize until her lips were on his how much he didn’t want that. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled in shame as he pulled away. 

He shook his head. “It’s fine. I do love you, Margo. I’m just not… I’m not there yet.” 

“I get it,” she nodded, but she didn’t look any less hurt. 

“You’ve definitely been the most helpful future person so far. Eliot couldn’t even tell me everything before I got yanked into this reality.” She looked like she was going to say something about a future where Eliot was alive, like she wanted to know how he was doing, but Quentin didn’t want to talk about the future. Or the present. It was already starting to get confusing. “I feel like everyone keeps dying over and over.” 

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “Maybe you’ll save everyone. Maybe you’ll get that future.” She clearly didn’t believe what she was saying, but he appreciated it anyway. “If you don’t get yanked out of this reality by tomorrow, we should go see Julia and Penny.” 

He turned sharply. “When you say Julia and Penny…?” 

“While I can see that, no. They just live in the same… panic room? Safe house? Whatever hedges call their top secret commune lairs.” He laughed a little, and then she laughed a little, and then suddenly they were both laughing and Quentin felt good, truly good, for the first time in days. He was glad Julia survived, Penny too. They were both breathless with laughter and he wondered if a future with Margo would be so bad. 

“I don’t know how we get to here, but I’m definitely determined to be the Cisco to your Kira when I get back,” Quentin told her. 

She snored a little. “You’re no Cisco, Quentin. You’re too weird and grumpy.” 

“What about Bashir?” 

“Try Odo.” 

They laughed again, but not as hard as the first time. He hadn’t seen much of this Margo, but he really did like her even if he didn’t think he wanted to marry her. “I’m going to save everyone,” Quentin decided, and he was mostly saying it for himself. “But I could see myself picking you. Not tonight, not right away. I can see how we could be happy together. Is all I mean.” 

She pinched his cheek and then gave it a few pats that felt almost like slaps. “Glad I could make you see sense.” They smiled at each other again and she stood. “You’re going to sleep with me tonight, clothes optional. But you’re not staying on the couch.” 

“Okay, but I don’t really want-“ 

“Relax. Having sex with you would feel weirdly like cheating on… you. The point is I don’t really want to either. I just don’t sleep well alone. Never have.” 

Quentin’s gaze softened. That explained why she and Eliot sometimes slept together- innocently. Not like the other night with the emotion magic and the alcohol. Quentin wondered if Eliot had the same problem. Then he wondered why he felt so connected to either of them when he was in love with Alice. He let out a slow breath, trying to send his thoughts out with the carbon dioxide. He followed her to bed and they curled up together. This was nice, really nice. She wasn’t Alice and he didn’t want her to be. She wrapped around him and he decided he wouldn’t mind getting sucked into the next timeline soon. It was getting harder and harder to separate his own feelings from that of his future counterparts. He mostly only felt this one, but the traces were there of Eliot’s Quentin and the dragon chaser. Then again, who cared which feelings were his when Margo was so good at playing with his hair? 

He stroked her arm until he fell asleep. When he woke up, he was in the shithole again, but where Margo had been in his arms before, Eliot now slept. Quentin sighed in exasperation. He couldn’t even get his bearings before he was somewhere else. 

“Mm,” Eliot smiled as Quentin stirred under him. “Morning.” 

“I’m Quentin from the past, from the coma, so I won’t freak out and accidentally insult you if you treat me like you would’ve treated me back at Brakebills,” he said before anything awkward could happen. He was pretty sure whatever tone of voice Eliot was using was the kind of tone he used before starting something Quentin wasn’t willing to finish. Weirdly, he didn’t feel too attracted to Eliot, not like he had in the other reality. 

“That’s cool,” Eliot replied. He didn’t bother moving except to snuggle a bit deeper into Quentin’s chest and he had to resist the urge to pull away. “Relax, we’re not a thing. We just get high and sleep together sometimes. Sometimes we get high, have sex, and then sleep together.” 

“That doesn’t sound like me.” 

“Well, everyone else is dead so it’s just you and me forever killing the pain,” Eliot replied in his usual sardonic tone. 

“What?” Quentin asked. He felt sick, and shaky. How could Eliot be so nonchalant about this kind of thing? 

With a deep inhale, Eliot rolled out of bed in a way that was simultaneously graceful and clumsy as hell. “Come on, I have a rainbow of pills and cocktails that you definitely need. I’m pretty sure we’re about a month from finally killing our livers, so there’s some good news.” 

“Eliot…” 

The man turned with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and grabbed Quentin’s hands. “Relax, Quentin! Enjoy the trip. God knows you’ve got nothing else to look forward to on your shit show.” 

“Not everything has been a shit show.” 

“Oh, so you’ve saved the day and everything is sunshine and rainbows? Fuck that, Quentin. You and I both know it’s bullshit. Now let’s get fucking FUBAR.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooooo so I split this chapter in half because I've been aiming for chapters around 3k and this one was basically twice that, but I am posting both at once so I don't know why I told you any of that?? To explain why two appeared instead of one?  
>  The following four chapters (the other two are drafted and I just need to edit) are going to get progressively darker and then we'll turn the dimmer switch the other direction for a little.   
> There are rules. There is a plan. I promise.
> 
> Warnings for this and the next chapter in the end notes.

Quentin didn’t even care who he was wrapped around this time. He was exhausted, had almost lost count of how many realities he’d seen, and he was no closer to finding a solution. He’d been through futures when everyone was dead except him, when everyone but Alice made it, and every combination between. He’d seen all of his friends in various states of injury, from internal wounds and drug addiction to missing limbs and one very catatonic and possibly brain dead Penny. The Beast had gotten to him in that reality and Quentin was still reeling from the sight of someone as strong and outspoken as Penny sitting lifeless and unfeeling in a chair as he was spoon fed. 

He didn’t care what reality this was. He just wanted what comfort he could get until he was ripped away and hurled into the next. He curled closer and burrowed into the warmth. It vaguely registered in his brain that the bed was too hard to be a bed, that they were probably sleeping on the ground on top of a thick blanket. He heard footsteps approaching- definitely the ground- and he turned. “Relax, Q. It’s not your turn yet.” 

“Julia,” he breathed. She’d survived in other realities, but this was the first time he’d actually seen or spoken to her. She acted as if he was always shocked and in awe, or as if she hadn’t noticed he was before nudging Quentin’s sleeping partner with her toe. 

“Penny, get up. It’s your turn to take watch,” she said. Quentin was almost shocked to see he’d been curled around Penny and not Eliot, but somehow he’d gotten numb to it. He didn’t feel anything romantic toward Penny, but he’d already learned that didn’t mean they weren’t still sleeping together. Penny stirred and pulled away, climbing out of the nest of blankets like a zombie crawling out of a grave. Quentin watched him walk away and decided Penny even looked a little like a zombie. He was thin and exhausted looking. Julia crawled into Penny’s place and snuggled up against Quentin. “Fucking cold,” she muttered mutinously. “I wish Penny could aim better. Something tropical would be nice next time.” 

She shifted again so that she was on top of Quentin and for a second he thought maybe they were together, but it was clearly just his old crush still not dead because she was reaching for someone behind him that he hadn’t noticed. “Eliot,” she hissed. He mumbled something barely audible in response. “Eliot, go out there and relieve Margo. She should’ve gone to sleep hours ago but she’s playing hero again.” 

Quentin watched the scene unfold with a sense of detachment. Eliot didn’t look put together exactly, but he didn’t look like he was drinking himself to death. Julia flopped back to her original position at Quentin’s side and he couldn’t help but start to feel curious. Before he made up his mind to launch into the explanation, Julia spoke. “I’m seriously worried about him.” 

“What do you mean?” Quentin asked. He furiously ignored the blooming sensation in his chest as she pulled the blankets tighter around them. She was cold. He was pretty sure his own core temperature had dropped a degree or two since she’d climbed in with him. 

“He hasn’t spoken since he messed up that spell and Alice got hit.” 

“How long?” Quentin blurted out in shock. 

“Since Alice got hit,” she repeated and finally seemed to really look at him. “Quentin?” 

“Are you saying he hasn’t spoken in seven years?” he asked, not bothering to explain why he didn’t know. 

“Quentin, Alice got hurt three days ago, not-“ 

Quentin sat up, practically dumping her off. “Alice survived? I mean- she didn’t get killed when we fought the Beast?” 

“Quentin, what are you-? Oh. Oh, shit. Quentin. You’re _Quentin_.” 

Well at least he didn’t have to tell the story again. “What was different this time? How did she survive? How did… Fuck, everyone survived it this time.” 

Margo was approaching them and Quentin could have cried he was so hopeful. “Quentin, the Beast is still out there. We’re not all huddled together keeping watch in an Antarctic fucking cave for fun. She survived because you woke up from that coma and told us to run. You hijacked some future Quentin and burned him out so we could get away. Incidentally, that’s what finally woke you up if you haven’t figured that out yet. But you’re not taking our Quentin. We’ve already got a contingency in place for that. Margo!” Margo had stopped across the dim room from them, huddled over a pile of stuff. She didn’t look over at them. She was busy working some magic. Julia didn’t call her name again, and Quentin guessed she didn’t want to interrupt. “She’s been trying that same healing spell for days. It’s not really working, but she’s not dead yet, so I guess it can’t be hurting.” 

“What’s wrong with her?” Quentin asked. He didn’t want Margo to be hurt. 

“We don’t know. Eliot feels like shit, but it wasn’t his fault. We just need to figure out what Alice got hit with. Nothing’s waking her up.” 

Alice. Alice was alive. Alice was right over there. He thought Julia had meant Margo was trying to heal herself. “Everyone’s alive,” he said, and it was supposed to be a question, but it came out weak and unsteady and was punctuated with a sob. “Jesus Christ, why didn’t you lead with that?” 

“What were you expecting?” 

“Jesus, Julia,” Quentin said. He wiped his eyes, trying to calm down. “This is the first time everyone’s been alive. I haven’t seen or spoken to you in what feels like years. I’ve seen every single one of you dead or crippled. I wasn’t even going to try here. I’d given up, do you get that? But if Alice is alive, if all of you are alive, that means there’s hope, there’s a point. I can still fix this.” 

She touched his shoulder. “This isn’t fixed, Q. We’re all alive, but we’re living like animals, running, hiding, barely surviving. You ‘saved’ us by letting us escape. ‘Fight another day’ you said. Well, we’ve been fighting and nothing’s been enough. We’re tired and cold and barely hanging on. It’s better than death, yeah. But it’s not fixed, Q. It’s just another shitty future.” 

He looked around. She wasn’t wrong. It was dark and cold and it smelled like everyone had given up on bathing, but it didn’t bother him. This Quentin must be used to the smell. How long had they all been living like this? Seven years, by the sound of it. “So is this all some sort of post-Apocalyptic waste land?” he asked her. “Or are there still nice places in the world and he’s just after us?” 

She shrugged. “We haven’t gone looking. We stay as isolated as possible. Even if there are nice places, he probably has spies. It’s not worth the risk.” 

He nodded, taking it all in. In spite of everything, this felt like the happiest future he’d seen so far. If only he’d known about it when he’d been part of the Quentin that didn’t mind being used for a suicide mission. Maybe he’d find another Quentin like that. There were probably other Quentins who were the last left standing. If he found another that hadn’t found a place in the world, he’d use that Quentin. They were all alive. They could figure out how to stop the Beast later. This was proof that they could all survive, and if they were all alive, that meant a win to Quentin. It was hope. 

“Can I see her?” he asked as he watched Margo finish whatever spell she was working on. 

“I know how you feel about her now, Q,” Julia said, “but give Margo a minute. No one’s really _with_ anyone, but they’re the closest thing our little family has to it.” 

“Oh.” Quentin replied, feeling confused. He didn’t know Alice liked girls. He wasn’t even sure what Julia meant by saying they were _close_ to being a couple. Especially in a situation where he woke up with his head on Penny’s shoulder and Eliot was alone in a corner. “Has Eliot always slept away from everyone like that or just since Alice got hurt?” 

“So you get why I’m worried,” she nodded. “Maybe you can talk to him. Margo’s been too upset to notice him for once, so maybe as someone who loves Alice as much as Margo does, you can get through to him.” 

“How? I don’t know anything about this future. Except that it’s the best one so far. I know you disagree, but you haven’t seen what I have.” 

“You haven’t seen what I have, Q. We lost Victoria to a fucking cut, okay? She banged her knee and it got infected and she _died_ and there was nothing any of us could do.” 

“Who-“ 

“She taught Penny how to do ride alongs. Without her, we’d have all been dead years ago.” 

“The traveler Penny saw being held prisoner in Fillory,” Quentin realized. “Shit. I’m sorry. I know it’s shitty. I wasn’t trying to say it isn’t. But I literally just came from a place where Penny of all people was so brain damaged he had to be fed and bathed and wore fucking diapers, okay? I’ve seen you with your hands bitten off, and Eliot without eyes. I’ve been the last one standing, living in a shithole apartment with more scars on my body than I could have possibly gotten from someone else. This is a goddamn paradise for me.” 

“Jesus,” she replied. “I’m sorry. You never really talked about what you saw. I always just assumed… I don’t know what I assumed. It’s too bad Victoria’s not here. You and she were really close. In some ways, I think she knew you better than me. Just some of them, though. Don’t get any ideas. I’m still your best and oldest friend.“ 

“I’m sure no one could ever replace you,” he assured her. “Just… I don’t want to hear this isn’t a future worth fighting for when almost everyone I care about is alive and with me and, for the most part, whole.” 

Their conversation stopped there as Margo approached. “She’s still not waking up,” she said quietly. “I think she looks a little better, though.” 

“You look like shit, Margo,” Quentin told her frankly. He tugged her hand to pull her down to the nest of blankets but she didn’t budge. “Come on, sit down. Let me tell you about the alternate reality where we’re married and somehow you made me like reality TV.” 

“I don’t feel like jokes right now, Quentin,” she told him. 

He tugged again and (probably from sheer exhaustion rather than actual desire) she finally capitulated and joined them. She curled up in his lap and he ran his fingers through her hair. “I wasn’t joking though. I got you into Star Trek. Everyone else was dead, though.” 

“Sounds good,” she mumbled. “I wouldn’t mind a reality where Eliot died horribly.” 

Quentin froze, unable to respond. He felt sick and Julia was trying to set Margo straight because she clearly hadn’t figured out he wasn’t making things up to distract her. He’d started shaking and he had to pull away, stand up, move, get away. He couldn’t breathe. This was a panic attack and he didn’t know why it was happening, so that only made it worse. He covered his ears and shut his eyes to block everything out, to try to focus on just getting air into his lungs, but he kept seeing the various incarnations of Eliot that had been disfigured and crippled, finally getting stuck on the Eliot who was fine on the outside, aside from his dead-eyed stare and numerous scars where he’d been tortured. Soon his mind was reeling with all of them, every version of his friends and every injury he’d seen. 

He swung violently at the hand on his shoulder, forgetting where he was, and his hand collided with a skull. “Shit,” he gasped out. “Shit, I’m sor-“ His apology was swallowed in vomit as he turned his head. No, not vomit. Bile. This Quentin clearly hadn’t had much of anything to eat very recently. It was enough of a shock to his system that when he was done coughing, he managed to gasp in air, though he was still quite upset. 

He’d hit Julia. She was on the floor and she wasn’t moving. Margo was already there, working some kind of healing magic. “I’m sorry,” he said unsteadily, but he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. 

“She’ll be fine. She’ll have a headache, but she’ll be fine,” Margo said. He fell back into a sitting position and she looked up at him. She just stared at him for a minute before sighing. “Help me get her back to bed. She shouldn’t be on the cold floor too long.” He nodded and they carried her back to the blankets again. He pulled Julia into his arms as if he could make up for the act of violence if he just matched it with enough care and tenderness. After it became clear he wasn’t going to speak, she said, “Reality TV, huh?” 

“Either America’s Next Top Model or Project Runway. I think. I’m not sure which. That was… a long time ago,” he confessed. “I know you’re worried about Alice, and I know you’re looking for someone to blame, but don’t. Don’t wish anyone dead. I’ve seen pretty much every permutation of it and I wouldn’t wish any of it on my worst enemy.” 

She scooted behind him and wrapped him in a hug. “Yeah, I guess you have seen some shit.” 

“This is the first time everyone’s been alive,” he told her. She didn’t reply and he appreciated that about her. She just let the pain exist without trying to fix it. He wondered if that was consideration or just exhaustion. 

She pushed him onto his back and spooned up behind him. “It was a basic, beginner spell that he screwed up. I know he didn’t do it on purpose, but he was supposed to distract that minion. If he’d done his job right, Alice would be here too. She wouldn’t be…” 

He squeezed her hand that was on his waist. “Maybe I can help. Maybe I’ve seen something that can help. I’ve seen a lot of healing spells in my… travels.” 

“Tempting, but we all agreed when you showed up that you weren’t allowed to do magic. Just in case you tried to go niffin or something.” He felt her lips against the back of his neck. “Hang in there, Quentin. There’s a lot of shit, but one thing you told us was to make sure you kept going. There’s an answer. You were sure of it. You just have to hang on.” 

He let out a shaky breath. “To be honest, I forgot that was an option. I’ve given up on everything. Even giving up. Until this, until everyone was here alive… I didn’t think there was a point. It seemed like no matter what, someone was going to die and if I went back, I’d basically end up choosing who.” 

“So now that you know everyone can live- at least up until a few days ago… you can keep going?” 

He smiled a little and let out an affected chuckle. “For now. I don’t know how much more I can take though, Margo. I’m scared. I don’t know how this works, but every day I wake up somewhere new and I can’t take much more of it. I just want everything to be okay. I don’t want a quest. I don’t want to save the world. I thought I did, but I just want to save my friends.” 

“I know, Q. Why do you think the Beast is still out there?” 

That made sense. Too much sense. Maybe the longer he lasted in here, the more he was willing to sacrifice for his friends. “I need a plan. I need to think of something unbelievably clever to stop the Beast because obviously I’ll sacrifice anything and anyone to save the people I care about and that’s… it’s not okay. I need something unbelievably brilliant.” 

“You need Alice.” 

“I need Alice,” he agreed. “Come on, let’s get started. I still haven’t figured out exactly what time- if there’s even a specific time- I get taken away. Maybe we can figure it out together.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previous warnings apply as well as graphic violence and character death (on screen).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See previous chapter for applicable warnings.
> 
> Seriously though I could write a whole fic in this AU. But I won't.

They tucked Julia in and moved across the room. Quentin had a nervous feeling about it. After so long not seeing Alice, always finding her dead, he was afraid to approach her. Part of him was convinced his presence was enough to send her off. Margo had to tug him forward before he realized he’d stopped walking. 

She looked older, by more than seven years, but still perfect. Pallid and weak as she might have seemed to someone else, Quentin only saw someone strong and perfect. She could have been sleeping. He snapped out of it when Margo squeezed his hand and leaned against him. “Looks like she’s just sleeping, doesn’t she?” Margo whispered his thoughts aloud. His hand quivered as he reached out to touch her face. She didn’t feel cold but he didn’t think she was feverish. He felt for a pulse. It was strong. Her breathing seemed normal. She really could have been sleeping. “Did you ever read the Fillory books?” Quentin asked urgently. He didn’t wait for Margo to answer. “In the first one, it was barely a passing mention, but they talked about a creature that could put someone into a deep sleep where only true love’s kiss could awaken them. A village the Chatwins visited was celebrating because someone had been woken up from such a thing. It wasn’t part of the plot- just something to explain why they were walking into a huge feast with parades…” 

“You think the minion we faced might have been that creature?” Margo asked. 

“I mean, everything you and I can both see just seems like she’s asleep. Like she’s asleep and can’t wake up. It can’t hurt to try, right?” 

“Try what?” 

“Well… true… love’s kiss?” 

Margo looked stung. “I’ve already kissed her, and it didn’t do anything.” 

Quentin looked away uncomfortably. “Oh.” 

“You might as well try it,” Margo muttered. “It’s obvious you think it’ll work and I’d rather see her alive and conscious.” 

“It might not even be that… And something might have gotten lost in translation. You remember what happened when Penny was being eaten alive by vines, right? We tried to burn a doll of him and it was nothing. Maybe there’s some kind of spell- or- or there’s something we’re missing.” 

“Just fucking kiss her, Quentin. I’m an adult. I’ll live.” 

He hesitated, but there was no point. If this didn’t work, they’d need to do something else. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. It was awful. He felt like he was violating something, kissing her like this when she wasn’t with him, when the last thing she’d said to him was that it was over, calling him a _fucking whore_. He pulled away quickly and blinked back tears. “Um,” he wavered. His took a breath to try to steady his voice. “True love. It doesn’t have to mean romantic. Maybe if, maybe it could mean the love of friends, of family. Everyone here loves her. Maybe if we all… Maybe it’s not even a kiss. Maybe- maybe-“ 

“It’s okay, Quentin. Chill. No one expects you to solve everything in two seconds.” 

He nodded, but he still felt like a failure. “It has to mean something else,” he insisted. “Kiss can mean anything, like kiss of death or sometimes poets talk about sun-kissed flowers or faces or something. Maybe it just needs to be a touch. Maybe she just needs to be surrounded by people who love her. You called us all a family. What truer love can there be for her than from everyone here?” 

“Quentin, we don’t even know if it’s that sleep. This isn’t a Disney movie.” 

“Then she’ll be unconscious and surrounded by people who love her, and that’s not a bad thing, right?” 

He was upset and desperate because he’d been given hope for the first time in so long and it was all being ripped away. This wasn’t his only chance, and maybe everyone else could help him come up with a plan, but something about this felt like Alice was the key. “Why don’t you go out and get some air?” Margo suggested. “We’ll try it later. I promise. For now though, Josh has been on watch for a while and could probably use some rest.” 

“Who the fuck is Josh?” 

“Right. Well, you can meet him now. Technically you were supposed to take my shift, but I guess Julia sent Eliot to try to butter me up.” 

“Did he get high in the Neitherlands?” Quentin asked suddenly. 

Margo nodded. “Yeah, and he almost got Penny killed.” 

“He’s gotten a lot of people killed with that stunt, and he almost always kills himself after that,” Quentin told her. “I know you’re mad and you have every right to be, but if you care at all about him possibly doing that…” 

She looked away and bit her lip. “I get it,” she said. “I don’t want that. You’re right. But for now, I need to be angry. There’s nothing for him to do it with, and no alone time. So I’m going to be selfish because I have lost enough being selfless for Eliot Waugh.” 

“We’ll figure it out,” Quentin promised. He stood and kissed her on the forehead. “I doubt she’s contagious, so how about we put her in the real bed?”

“It was about keeping the spellcasting away from the sleepers, but I guess you’re right.” 

He helped carry Alice to Julia and tried not to think about how limp and lifeless she felt. He watched Margo’s face and saw his own pain reflected there. This wasn’t his Alice. This was Margo’s Alice and Quentin needed to remember that. It was stupid to think he could wake her with a kiss, no matter how pure he thought his love for her was. He had already forgotten that neither Penny nor Eliot knew what was happening when he went outside and asked, “Josh, right? I’m Quentin and I’m here to relieve you for some sleep.” 

Even Eliot looked over at him, a refreshingly judgmental look on his face as if he was trying to decide whether Quentin had lost his mind. He explained quickly and waited for them to get over it before catching them up on his theory for Alice. 

Eliot stood up. “Well, I bet I can fix this then.” They both looked at him. He looked resigned and miserable which, if he really could save Alice, seemed at odds with the moment of triumph. “There’s this spell, it’s called the kiss of death. I read about it once and I know how to get it off her.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” 

“Because I didn’t think of it. Do you know how many spells can put a person to sleep, Quentin? In a _coma_?” Eliot asked and his tone cut like a knife. Quentin tried not to take it personally. He knew Eliot was hurting and he knew what Eliot did when he thought he’d gotten someone he cared about hurt. 

Eliot was already headed inside, but Quentin had a bad feeling. He took off after him, ignoring Penny’s annoyed shouts, and grabbed Eliot’s arm. “Wait,” he said urgently. “What’s the spell, Eliot? What does it do?” 

He looked at Quentin and he looked dead. This was the look of someone on the edge. Quentin knew. He’d seen that look before, in the mirror. “It takes the enchantment away from her. It wakes her up.” 

“What else?” Quentin demanded. “Eliot, you’ve done stuff like this before and you always do something bad to yourself and I’m not going to let you hurt yourself, okay? Tell me what the spell does.” 

“It takes the enchantment off her,” he repeated slowly. “Don’t worry, Quentin. I don’t have to kill myself or anything. I’ll be fine.” 

His heart was racing. He still had a bad feeling. He touched Eliot’s face gently and that at least seemed to shock some kind of emotion back into the other man’s eyes. “I did this to myself to save Alice. I fucked with a spell and I was desperate, and I did it for her,” he said. Eliot tried to pull away, but Quentin only got a better grip on his shoulders. “But it’s all or nothing, Eliot. I’m not going to save her by sacrificing someone else I love, okay?” 

“You don’t love me, Quentin. When you’re from, I helped ruin your life.” 

“You’re wrong, okay? And you don’t just stop caring about someone if they do something shitty. You don’t. And… you didn’t. I overreact sometimes and it takes me a while to even out.” 

“So you’re even now?” 

“God no,” Quentin scoffed, but he didn’t feel like talking about death and dismemberment anymore. “But I can hang on a little longer. I can do that. Can you?” 

Eliot started to say something but just touched Quentin’s face. “Like I said, I’ll be fine. It’s a simple spell, and I won’t mess this one up.” 

Before he knew what he was doing, Quentin pulled Eliot into a hug. “You matter,” he said. “And I’m really glad every time I wake up somewhere new and you’re there. So just… If it’s not as easy or if you think anything might go wrong, anything at all… Stop. Please. Losing you wouldn’t hurt any less.” 

“I’m touched, Quentin,” Eliot said, and even though his voice sounded detached Quentin knew he was. “I wish our Quentin cared as much as you do. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” 

Quentin wanted to argue, but he’d made his point and Eliot seemed certain he could do it. There was nothing else to be done, especially not if he wanted any chance at all to talk to Alice. He could be swept away at any point. He had no idea how long he’d been in this reality because Antarctica almost always seemed like the same time outside. 

Margo resisted, but in the end she wanted Alice awake more than she wanted to punish Eliot so they cleared away and he started to cast. Quentin watched his fingers as they bent impressively and couldn’t help but be impressed with Eliot’s skill. This looked far more complicated than Eliot had let on. “Eliot-“ he started. Fear was building in Quentin’s chest. This was too complicated. What if Eliot planned to heal Alice by going niffin? 

“I’ve almost got it,” Eliot snapped. 

Suddenly, he pushed his hands forward so that his palms were toward Alice. Then his fingers folded down: pinkies, ring fingers, middle, index, with his thumbs still straight out. Abruptly, he brought his hands down and pulled them toward him as if he had a rope and was pulling the curse out of her. Her torso yanked into a sitting position and she gasped in a breath. Margo was at her side instantly and Quentin took a step closer before thinking better of it. They deserved a minute. _Not your Alice, not your future_ , he reminded himself. 

“Eliot, that was amazing,” he said, but Eliot’s eyes were glassy. “Eliot?” Quentin lurched forward, just in time to catch him as he fell. “Eliot?” he repeated, uttering his name over and over with increasing desperation. This was his fault. He’d had a bad feeling and he’d ignored it because he was too focused and now Eliot was… Quentin screamed as the feeling of hopeless futility hit him. Why couldn’t he save everyone? Why couldn’t he have that? He could feel his throat tear with the force of his yell, but he did it again. He could hear Alice groggily asking what happened, what Eliot did, what did he do, was he okay? Quentin just cradled him close and cried. He was so tired of losing people. He couldn’t stand hearing about them dying, and now he’d just watched Eliot... “You fucking liar,” he sobbed. “You fucking asshole-“ 

He couldn’t even be happy about the decidedly alive and conscious Alice who came up behind him to try to have a look. “Quentin,” she said calmly, then a bit more forcefully, “Quentin. Calm down. Look at his chest. He’s breathing. He’s not dead.” 

He leaned his head against Eliot’s and felt the breath against his cheek. Penny was at the mouth of the cave looking like he couldn’t decide whether to yell at everyone for being so loud or to go back out to keep watch. Suddenly Penny looked back out and then rushed in. “Time to go, boys and girls,” he said in a rushed voice. “Grab what’s near you, leave the rest,” he said urgently. He grabbed a blanket and slung it over his shoulder before rushing over to Quentin, Eliot, and Alice. Obviously they were the ones who couldn’t move to everyone else. 

The others rushed around but Alice grabbed Quentin’s face for his attention. “September 15th at noon, Brakebills time,” she said hurriedly. “I don’t know what it means. I just know you told me to tell you. I think you had a plan, but I don’t know what it was. Quentin, what did I say?” 

He felt dizzy and his brain wasn’t working the way it should. He shut his eyes, trying to remember what she’d said, to process it, to commit it to memory. “September 15th. Noon.” 

“Brakebills time,” she repeated. “Eastern standard.” 

“Noon Brakebills time,” he nodded. He had no idea why that was important. Maybe something would happen. He didn’t know. Suddenly there were moths everywhere and the Beast was in the doorway. “Oh god, no,” he breathed. He took one of Eliot’s hands and Alice took the other. Someone took Quentin’s other hand but Margo and Josh were straggling with Julia’s unconscious body. 

“Quentin Coldwater,” the Beast said. He was staring right at Quentin, though how he knew when those eyes were hidden behind all those moths was impossible to say. Quentin could just feel it. He let go and started working a spell. He had to buy them time. 

Alice swatted his hands away. “If you die here, nothing changes,” Alice snapped. “You wake up at Brakebills and you don’t know anything.” 

Finally, the other three got there and took hands, but not before the Beast reached for Quentin. He felt pressure and his shoulder suddenly felt warm and wet even though their new surroundings were cold and dry. There were trees everywhere. He leaned his nose into Eliot’s hair, needing to hug something to express his gratitude. “We’re okay,” he whispered and kissed that hair. “We’re okay.” 

“Jesus, Quentin,” he heard Margo say. He looked at her in confusion and in the corner of her eye he simultaneously realized what she was talking about and why his shoulder was throbbing. He was bleeding, badly. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said, but he had no strength to stop whoever was taking Eliot from him and lowering him to the ground. Alice was furiously working magic over him and Margo joined in. They seemed incredibly concerned, but Quentin wasn’t sure why. He blinked weakly as his vision tunneled and hoped he wouldn’t die in this reality- not when he had just gotten his first solid clue to a plan. 

It all went dark anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brb hiding so no one can seek retribution for the awful things I've written for Quentin.
> 
> Have added warnings to full fic because I realized Quentin is carrying some of them to future chapters, so they're not as contained as I wanted to believe and I don't want anyone to read to a certain point and not want to continue and therefore have wasted their time without even finding out how it ends?
> 
> Relevant warnings for this chapter in the end note.

Quentin woke to the smell of clean linen and rubbing alcohol. There was light outside his eyelids, pure enough that he knew before opening them he was going to see a hospital. He reached absently for his shoulder and touched it, which only confirmed he was in a new reality. He looked around for a sign of anyone who might have been waiting for him or who could tell him what had happened. He lifted his hand to grab the rail so he could get up, but his eyes were drawn to the metallic sound. He was cuffed to the bed. Why was he cuffed to the bed? If they were trying to stop him from hurting himself, they shouldn’t have picked something like metal handcuffs. If he wanted, he could’ve broken his hand and slipped them. He didn’t though, so that probably meant he wasn’t in a mental hospital. He should’ve known by the actual medical equipment, but his powers of observation had gone downhill. He mostly just tried to figure out how this Quentin felt to try to determine how bad shit was going to be. 

This Quentin felt scared and full of grief, which was a bad sign. The grief was pretty normal, but it felt fresh- and the fear worried him. Someone he didn’t recognize walked in, but she had the Brakebills crest on her shirt. She was followed by one of the other students from his year. Had he died in that last reality? Was he awake and in his own time now? “Shit,” he expelled, letting the force of it land his head back on the pillow. 

“Mr. Coldwater, what’s happened to you is unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do about it. They’ve had us take away your magic.” She stepped slightly aside to gesture to the younger woman. “You remember Miss Frederick. I believe you were in the same year.” 

Quentin looked up at that. He realized she looked a little older and dressed more like faculty than a student now. She didn’t meet his gaze as she talked. “My discipline was healing, but I had a very specific focus on the damage done by healing too much or the wrong thing. Since they’re sending you to a non-magic prison, they need you to be… non-magic. The Dean asked me to help. Your condition is reversible. It’s a fairly harmless sort of virus, I guess. It can be cured fairly easily and there are some pretty good records of my work at Brakebills, so you’ll have someone versed in it available to cure you as soon as you’re released.” 

The fear made a lot of sense now. He wasn’t going to ask either of them what he’d done or how long he was being put away, but that was something he really needed to know. What didn’t make sense was Quentin doing something serious and illegal enough to be put in prison. “Do I get to see anyone before I go in?” he asked instead. 

“She’s being cleared by the guards now,” the dean confirmed. Quentin had no idea what her name even was. She must have taken over for Dean Fogg at some point. He hoped the man was okay. He could be a dick, but he was still one of the good guys. 

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. He didn’t know who he wanted to see most, but none of the three walked through the door. He had no idea who this was. “You okay?” she asked as she approached him. 

“Uh,” he said. Was this someone he could even trust? 

“Stupid question, I know. They said you could only have one visitor and we all decided it should be me. Because I can remind you that you’ve been through worse. Penny wanted you to know he’s already working on a way to get you out. Personally, I think it should have been him. He’s putting on a really convincing front, but I can hear his thoughts and he’s worried out of his mind and he feels guilty as hell.” She stopped talking and he got the impression she was waiting for a response. “This is the part where you say ‘That’s stupid, he was attacked, he can’t control that.’” 

“He can’t,” Quentin agreed. Should he be worried? What happened? How could he find out without revealing too much to this stranger? “How is he?” 

“Pretty good for someone who got like a third of his ribs broken.” She looked genuinely affected for a minute before turning angry. “It’s all such bullshit! That cop had no real reason to go after him. If you hadn’t stopped him, he probably would have killed Penny. You shouldn’t have to pay for some stupid bigoted fuckwomble who couldn’t tell innocent from-“ 

“Not to sound ungrateful, but I wouldn’t mind seeing Penny if he’s here.” He really didn’t want to think about the implication that he’d hurt or killed a cop. There were too many things that could make worse for him. 

He probably did sound ungrateful, but he didn’t know if he could trust her. She seemed to care about him, but concern could be faked. So could a lot of things. She probably wasn’t faking and he had probably just really hurt her, but this visit was probably timed and he needed answers. “They said only one. Sorry we chose wrong.” 

Quentin tried to sit up and get his legs under him. He was still chained to the bed, but sitting made him feel a little less vulnerable and he was about to open himself up to a world of potential shit. “I have no idea who you are,” he said slowly. 

“Alright. Okay. Shared trauma aside, I get the message.” 

“I meant that literally,” he said, trying to stop her as she walked away. “I have no idea who you are. We haven’t met yet when I’m from.” 

He really wished he could skip all of the processing people went through every time. It was so old and he was impatient to get on with everything. Finally, she seemed to remember herself and looked at him urgently. “September 15, noon,” she told him. “That’s really important. You told us all to tell you that time.” 

He perked up at that. “Do you know what it means? Did I tell you what the plan is?” 

She shrugged helplessly. “If you don’t know me… that means you must be pretty early in your whole… time travel thing.” 

“God, I hope not,” he deflated. “I know I’ve seen over a hundred different probabilities. I lost count. I think I’m close to two hundred. I’ve got to be.” 

“Oh. Okay. So I really haven’t been in any of your other futures?” 

“I mean, maybe you were there and I just didn’t meet you or know to look for you. I’m sorry.” 

“Well… I don’t want you to know me before I know you, so. You’ll just have to wait until you wake up, I guess.” She looked like she wanted to take a step toward him. “You saved me, you know.” 

“Wait, are we-?” he gestured uselessly between them and she laughed. 

“God, no. We’re just really good friends. Shame I won’t get to see you- other you- off. You’ve gotten good at covering your thoughts… well, not _you_ … but not as good as Penny- and I can hear Penny’s clear enough. I just know that our Quentin isn’t doing so well with this whole prison thing. I mean, it’s prison. But he’s claustrophobic and afraid of it in a way you don’t seem to be. But maybe that’s just because you know you’ll be gone in no time.” She was watching him carefully as she spoke, trying to gauge his reaction. Whether she found what she was looking for or not, she moved on. “I’d hug you but they told me I couldn’t cross this line and I’m pretty sure it’s enchanted or they have cameras or something. Stay strong, Quentin. September 15 at noon.” 

“Brakebills time,” he added and she made a face that said she had forgotten. 

“If you can leave a note for our Quentin somehow, tell him we can’t visit for the first forty-eight hours but we’ll be in as soon as we can.” 

The door opened and she was escorted out, traded for two very large guards that made Quentin nervous. He’d never felt more like a kid about to be punished than he did right then. He cringed a little, half expecting to be hit, but all they did was take the cuff off the bed and fasten it to his other wrist. His ankles were shackled and connected to his wrists. The weight was almost unbearable, but nothing compared to being walked through the waiting room and seeing his friends: the stranger, Penny, Margo, and Julia. No Alice or Eliot. Quentin wondered if they were dead or just couldn’t make it. His gaze flicked to Penny who sat up a lot straighter. He seemed to have caught that last thought. Did Penny know exactly what was happening and who Quentin was? He nodded to Quentin as if to confirm. Are they alive? He thought the question as hard as he could, and Penny gave him a short shake of his head. They weren’t. Quentin was shoved roughly through the door. Apparently the guards didn’t like the way he’d slowed down slightly or tried to communicate with his friends. 

They loaded him into the back of a prison van and chained his feet to the bottom of the seat. “Joe was a friend of mine,” the one guard said, dangling a safety belt in front of him before letting it fall unfastened to the side. Quentin watched them leave with growing horror as it became apparent they had every intent to make things hard for him just like he’d tried not to think when he found out he’d killed a cop. Would the guards in the prison be the same? He didn’t have too much time to worry about it as the van started. Every turn and bump made it challenging to stay in the seat. He couldn’t even get a proper balance because of the way his feet were chained. He couldn’t grab the walls or the bench because of the cuffs. It was almost like they were driving badly on purpose to try to throw him. Quentin pulled up against the chains using the floor as leverage as best he could. Between that and what little he could do with his legs, he managed not to go flying. He was relieved when it finally stopped and he heard the engine cut. His thighs were burning from the effort of trying to stay seated. 

He squinted as the sunlight streamed back in. The ride had felt long, sure, but apparently it had actually been long. “Looks like he took his belt off and tried to escape even though we warned him it wasn’t safe,” guard number one called forward. “He hit his head pretty good.” 

Quentin’s nonplussed expression turned to terror as he was grabbed by the neck of his shirt and slammed head-first into the bench across from his. Quentin’s vision blacked out and he vaguely heard something about a wife and kids, but the blow to his head had all but knocked him out. Just as his vision started coming back, he was shoved into it again. He was lifted bodily, but his legs wouldn’t support him. “Looks like he’s going to have to go to the infirmary! Should’ve listened to us, kid. You got yourself hurt bad enough that they’re going to have to put this escape attempt on your record. It’s gonna look real bad if you ever come up for parole. Not that cop killers get parole, you son of a bitch.” The last sentence was snarled quietly into his ear, but Quentin was too busy trying to control his body to respond. There was no correct response, anyway. 

Quentin had never been so desperate to get locked in a cell in his life. The staff in the infirmary were rough in treating him and didn’t even tell him to stay awake in case he had a concussion. The day was almost over by the time he was finally put (shoved, roughly) into his cell. “Rough day?” asked a deep voice. Quentin looked up. He had a cell mate and that cell mate was sitting on the top bunk, watching him like a hawk in its nest. He didn’t reply and just sat on the lower one. As bad as he felt abandoning the other Quentin, he couldn’t take any more of this. “Guards are rough with you. What’d you do to piss them off?” 

“Killed a cop,” Quentin said and turned his back to the room, facing the wall of the cell. Hopefully that would earn him some peace. 

“No wonder,” his cell mate said. So much for peace. “You want to be careful, Bunkie. Make nice with everyone. If the guards don’t like you, they might not see you in trouble right away.” 

“Thanks,” Quentin muttered, glad the sudden spike of fear couldn’t be heard in his voice. Someone called lights out and he shut his eyes, glad that there was now probably an enforced quiet period. He just wanted the day to end so he could get out of here. Just as he was falling asleep, he heard his cell mate’s bunk creak as he got up and cringed at the sound of him peeing. Quentin especially hoped he got out of here before he had to pee in what was basically his bedroom, in front of a stranger. He heard the sink turn on as his roommate washed up and shut his eyes again. Hopefully that would be the last annoying noise of the night. 

He about jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He tried to shrug it off, but suddenly his cell mate was pressed up behind him. A hand clamped over his mouth and nose so tight he couldn’t breathe. “You can scream if you want, but you’re the one who’ll get in trouble. They know exactly what I’m gonna do to you. It’s why you got put with me. They’re not going to do anything about it either. Unlike you, I have a good relationship with the guards.” 

Quentin’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest and he gasped for air as the oppressive hand travelled south. He reached to push the man away, but a crude, homemade knife was pressed just below his eye. “I said you could scream. I didn’t say you could get away. So stop fighting.” 

It was like a bad dream, and Quentin felt like he’d been torn out of his body. He was vaguely aware of the pain, the creaking of the bed, the knife being unintentionally pushed into his side, just slightly breaking his skin. Mostly though, he was aware of the texture on the wall. It seemed surreal, like he was watching his surroundings on a screen, like some kind of lens had been put between him and his life. 

When it finally ended, Quentin was numb. He couldn’t believe what had happened. He started to feel cold and tried to reassemble his clothes the way they were meant to be worn and suddenly reality came rushing back. He buried his face in his pillow to muffle the sound of his panic and probable tears. He couldn’t sleep after that, maybe never again. When the lights came on in the morning, he realized he’d made a horrible mistake. He didn’t get whisked away in the night. He was still here. He’d been wrong about how it worked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sexual assualt, police brutality, references to implied racism
> 
> Disclaimer: I know not all police are racist assholes, and I know prison guards aren't either. (I actually have family in that line of work.) For the purposes of brevity and simplicity, the ones in this fic are one dimensional villains because otherwise this AU would be its own fic instead of just two chapters. Which might be better because I worry that the brevity makes the very real issue of racism a convenient plot device which is zero percent my intent.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after this chapter, I promise we slowly start to slide the dimmer back up.
> 
> Same warnings apply as in the last chapter.

Quentin stared at his disgusting prison breakfast. He should have been hungry. He hadn’t eaten since he’d woken up in that hospital yesterday, and maybe not even before that. Even this should have been palatable with the hunger he should be feeling, but he felt nauseated. He felt sick and was in pain. There was the dull stinging in his side where he’d been scratched over and over by that shitty knife, but mostly there was the other pain that made him limp when he walked, that made him balance on the edge of the bench with his weight on his thighs. His cell mate had been right. The guards knew exactly what was going to happen. They smirked when they saw the way he tried not to walk and a couple even snickered to each other. He saw one slip the monster a pack of cigarettes. 

Suddenly, the monster sat down next to him at the breakfast table and it took everything Quentin had not to move away. “Considerate of you to give me your food like this,” he said. He didn’t bother asking as he took Quentin’s tray and started eating. He smirked. “You’re a fast learner, didn’t even try to stop me. Good dog.” 

Bile churned in his esophagus and he said nothing. He didn’t have his magic, so he was essentially helpless. The guards were complicit, though he could never prove it. If he tried to get away now or fight, it would cause a scene and he would definitely be the one punished for it. Maybe they’d put him in solitary. Quentin would do a lot to get locked up in a room alone right now. He didn’t care about the negative psychological effects. Nothing could be worse than being near the monster. 

“Don’t come near me,” Quentin said and stood up. He didn’t know where he was going, but he couldn’t stay here. Either the monster would let him escape or- 

Quentin yanked violently against the sudden grip on his wrist. It was painful and ironlike and Quentin wondered if the monster had some kind of magic. There was no way that kind of strength could be natural. “Get off!” he snapped. Shouts started, calling for a fight. The monster smirked at him and Quentin realized why as the guards charged in and started to beat him into submission. He made several embarrassing noises, but at least he didn’t cry. They picked him up with his arms wrenched painfully behind his back and started to cart him out, but there was guard number one, Joe’s friend. 

“Since you and your friend aren’t getting along, I think we’ll assign you a two-person duty together until you can get along,” he said. His voice and his face betrayed nothing, but there was a vindictive glint in his eye and Quentin knew, he just knew, it was going to be awful. 

They were made to work all day without lunch. He and his cell mate were both assigned to clean their section’s bathrooms and it happened again in one of the showers. The monster had him pressed against the tile, with that poorly contructed knife, with his disgusting breath scraping Quentin’s ear and choking him with the bad smell. Quentin thought he saw someone walk in and then back out, someone in a guard uniform, and he cried quietly. There was the confirmation that no one was going to help him. He wondered, if he tried to stop it, if they would hurt him again. He didn’t know how to fight back, not without making it worse for the other Quentin, not without risking dying. He had to hang on because there was an answer. He could save everyone. He could stop whatever happened in this universe that landed him here. “September fifteen, noon, Brakebills time,” he started mentally repeating to himself until he couldn’t feel the scrape of the missing grout between the shower tiles. He screamed it in his head to block out the sound of flesh hitting flesh, bellowed it mentally to try to drown out the lude commentary about his body and the promises of what would happen to it later. 

It all turned to white noise except the date and time and the only reason he knew it was over was that the white noise faded away so that all he could hear was the date. There wasn’t anything to clean up with, but he had to do something so he used his boxers as a wash cloth and then tried to wash them out in the sink. He didn’t know what to do with them now that they were wet and the monster seemed highly amused by the whole situation. “Try the hand dryer,” he smirked. 

The prison pants chafed without the boxers but Quentin would have put up with it if it meant not drying his underthings while the monster just _watched_. There was nowhere else to put them though, not if he wanted to keep them and he needed something, if for no other reason than to have one more meaningless barrier between him and the monster. He just repeated the date in his head and tried not to think. 

The guards didn’t seem to notice that nothing had been cleaned. Maybe they did and just didn’t want to have to “punish” Quentin with solitary. They probably all knew he was already in the deepest pit of hell they could throw him into. 

Dinner was even more unappetizing than breakfast. This time when the monster sat with him and took his food, Quentin did nothing. He didn’t try to escape. He didn’t even look up, just continued to stare dead-eyed at the table. Maybe he should have fought and taken another beating, but his pride wasn’t worth the pain- not when it wouldn’t save him. The monster ate loudly, with his mouth open, and Quentin’s stomach roiled in revulsion. He couldn’t take much more. 

He shut his eyes when they were locked up again and tried desperately to sleep, but every sound, every creak made him jump. He was already crying silently with fear and panic when he heard the creak of the man getting out of bed, pissing loudly, and washing his hands. Somehow he could think to himself that this was probably an alibi if someone asked why he was out of bed. He couldn’t think of how to stop it, though. “No,” he whimpered as the body tried to join him, but there was the knife, and it was pressed into his neck. “Please,” he begged, but he felt a trickle of blood and just buried his face in the pillow. September fifteen. Noon. Brakebills time. 

September fifteen. Noon. Brakebills time. 

September fifteen. 

Noon. 

Brakebills time. 

He tried to sleep once he was alone again, but every breath in the cell block, every cough, every creak of the beds set him back to panic mode. The next day was the same, cigarettes for his tormentor, tortured as they worked, alone, unguarded, attacked again. Not that he could have slept himself into another reality anyway. He didn’t know if he could ever sleep again. 

He was shaky when the lights came on the third day. He hadn’t eaten and he hadn’t slept at all. Quentin hoped desperately that he would just pass out from exhaustion before they got to their daily work duties, but he had something entirely new to worry about. He was singled out and taken down a long hall. It was oppressively solid in color. These walls may once have been white, but now they were dingy with neglect. Quentin was so far from sane or reasonable at this point, that it didn’t occur to him that nothing was happening besides the fact that he couldn’t report whatever might happen. “Please don’t hurt me,” he begged in a tiny voice. The two guards laughed at him. He shivered a little harder. 

He was locked alone in a room. It was almost anticlimactic, but Quentin was hardly going to complain. This was the safest he’d felt in days. He’d rather face the Beast than the monster in his cell. There was a mirror that someone was probably watching him through, so he did his best to look docile and unlikely to cause trouble. He stared at the table and was glad they hadn’t cuffed him to it. Someone was probably going to beat him or something, but for now he was alone. He closed his eyes to shut out that dingy color of the walls and just tried to rest. Maybe he could fall asleep here. 

It wasn’t to be. His heart started hammering again when the door opened. He recognized guard number one, Joe’s friend, but he stepped aside and Penny walked in. Quentin didn’t want to see Penny. He didn’t want anyone he cared about to see him like this. The door shut behind Penny as he approached Quentin, no doubt concerned about the bruises on his face and arms. The guards weren’t even worried about what Quentin might tell someone. That meant there’d be- 

“Retaliation for what,” Penny demanded angrily before Quentin could remember he did that mind reading thing. He’d forgotten everything. Time had stopped. He didn’t care if Penny could read his thoughts. He had to speak out loud, no matter how terrifying it felt. “Nothing, it’s nothing. Please stop listening to my thoughts. I can’t help how loud they are, please.” 

Quentin started repeating the date again in his head. Penny stalked over to him, but Quentin flinched so violently that Penny stopped short of actually reaching for him. “What the fuck did they do to you?” he demanded furiously. 

“You’ll just make it worse for me,” Quentin warned him. “Don’t. Just don’t. Please.” 

He couldn’t help but picture the uniform that had walked in and back out of the bathroom and he knew Penny had seen it too when he drew back and straightened up. “Oh, hell no,” Penny said with an absolute finality. “You’re not staying here. You’re coming home.” 

He marched over to the door and banged on it. Quentin saw him wince from the action. He wasn’t healed yet then. The door opened up and there was the guard who’d tried to give him a concussion again. Well, Quentin had stayed awake anyway. Penny looked over his shoulder at that and then fired off some battle magic which slammed the guard into the wall. “Should’ve worn your fucking seat belt, asshole.” An alarm went off and Penny cast at someone else before coming back for Quentin. He slowed down a little and held out his hand for Quentin to take. “If my ribs weren’t still messed up, and if I weren’t your ride out, I’d be doing a lot more fucking damage to these assholes,” he assured the shaken man at the table. Quentin could hear boots running toward them and quickly grabbed Penny’s hand. 

They disappeared quickly and rematerialized alone in the shithole. “I know this shithole,” he said quietly. 

“It’s Julia’s, but she’s not home yet,” Penny told Quentin. “So you won’t have to face anyone else yet.” 

Penny looked more upset than usual and Quentin got the feeling this might be hurting him more than Quentin- and that was saying something. “It’s not-“ 

“I know it’s not my fucking fault, okay? I know you don’t blame me, and I know the rest. You saved my life, Quentin, and this is how you get repaid.” 

“I didn’t. Or not yet. Maybe not ever. This is… this didn’t happen in any other realities.” 

“We wouldn’t have even been out if I hadn’t insisted,” Penny went on. He looked at Quentin. “You’re not him, so you don’t know.” 

“No, I don’t,” Quentin agreed. 

Penny paced agitatedly. “You’re standing there, and you’re hurt, and I want to kill everyone who had something to do with it, but I can’t, I can’t even hold you. I can’t fix this, Quentin.” 

Quentin’s brain couldn’t keep up. Hold him? Were they… together? Judging by Penny’s self-deprecating scoff, it was a safe bet. He took a step forward, needing to fix it somehow. He didn’t know what he was doing, only that Penny needed something and watching him come untethered like his was somehow more disturbing than seeing him as a vegetable. Penny stopped moving and looked at him. Clearly Penny didn’t know what Quentin was doing either. They both seemed shocked when he wrapped the other man in a careful hug. “It’s better this way,” Quentin said. 

“Don’t you fucking dare-“ 

“He won’t remember it. It was all me, so… he’ll be in some pain, but he won’t be afraid of you. He won’t panic at everything. He’ll only have to heal physically.” 

“If you think-“ 

“You know exactly what I think, Penny. And what I think is I bet you have something somewhere that will knock me out, and I’m reasonably certain falling asleep is my ticket out of here. Also, you should expect him to sleep a while because I haven’t. I haven’t eaten either, so maybe have something for him.” 

“Quentin…” 

Quentin shook his head and pulled away because his skin was starting to crawl from the contact. “Just do it, okay? There’s nothing you can do for me except knock me out. Unless you want me to pass out from exhaustion in a day or so. It’s not like you can make me better before I’m gone again, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Penny agreed reluctantly. He looked like he wanted to reach for Quentin, but Quentin didn’t have it in him to be touched again right now. He really hoped some of this faded when he left this Quentin. He needed it to. He needed to function if he was going to figure out what the date meant. 

“What day is it?” Quentin asked. 

“Friday.” 

“No, I mean the date.” 

Penny came back with a blue pill and a glass of water. “September 10th.” 

“Five days,” Quentin whispered to himself. Penny held out the pill a little more insistently and Quentin grabbed it. What did it mean that the date was five days away? Was something going to happen? 

“None of us know, so just take the pill. The bedroom’s through there. I’ll stay out here until you’re asleep.” 

“Thank you,” Quentin said, trying to meet Penny’s eyes to convey how much he meant it, but Penny refused to look at him. Quentin gave up more quickly than he probably should have, but he just didn’t have it in him to try any more. He drank down the pill and left the glass on the table as he went into the bedroom. It hit fast, taking him out of his body so that he was floating. The pain numbed into nothing so the bodiless feeling took over. He shut his eyes and enjoyed being nothing but a consciousness. You couldn’t touch consciousness. You couldn’t hurt it. Quentin was safe and invincible like this. With that thought, he finally fell asleep. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I think this is my favorite chapter. (in terms of story. I'm trying not to think about the quality seeing as I edited it while barely hanging on to consciousness.)
> 
> No new warnings, just aftermath from the earlier.

Quentin woke up in a decent apartment (house?) and he was blessedly alone in the bed. It was huge, probably a king size, so either this wasn’t his place or he didn’t live here alone. He could never picture himself getting a bed this big just for himself. His eyes fell shut and he breathed in the emptiness of the room and the inherent safety in that. 

It wasn’t to last, though. The springs in the mattress raised the hairs on the back of his neck and then a body pressed up behind him. Quentin couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath or the way his entire body tensed with the stress of wanting to fight or fly and being forced to go nowhere because that was the least bad option. Except it wasn’t, not here. This wasn’t the prison. 

Logically, he knew there was a question forming from the body behind him as they pulled slightly away but Quentin took the opportunity to bolt, sending magic flying over his shoulder at the enemy. He pressed against the wall, realizing his mistake. He was on the wrong side of the room. His assailant was between him and the door. He held his hands in front of him, feeling short of breath but ready for a fight. 

“Jesus Christ, Quentin!” 

Quentin’s gaze started to focus when he recognized Eliot’s voice. There was blood. Shit, he’d just tried to kill Eliot. He couldn’t even function enough to wonder if he’d succeeded. With a dry sob, he collapsed to the floor. Eliot was in front of him before Quentin had a chance to stop him. He hit his head against the wall in the panic of trying to get away. “Quentin, it’s Eliot.” 

“I’m not Quentin,” was all he could choke out. He wanted to apologize, anything, but he couldn’t think until Eliot backed off and understood that he couldn’t treat this Quentin like the one he knew. 

Suddenly Margo stormed into the room. “What the hell is going on in here?” she demanded and Quentin considered trying to escape through the window. It could be several stories up, but at that moment he couldn’t care less.

“Give us a minute, Margo,” Eliot said, but he’d made the mistake of turning to her and she saw the blood running down the side of his face. She headed over and Quentin felt his personal space get smaller and harder to breathe in. Eliot glared at her. “I said give us a minute, okay? It’s just a graze.” 

Quentin watched with wide eyes as she left and relaxed a little when Eliot backed off too. He should be comforted to be with them, but the panic was turning should be’s into never were’s. He kept Eliot in his peripheral vision as he tried to get air in and out at a reasonable rate. The other man just waited patiently, making no movements. Somehow it was exactly what Quentin needed from him: a steady, familiar, safe presence that didn’t move or need anything from him. 

Finally, he felt even but he stayed where he was. “Sorry,” he said quietly. 

“Is it safe to assume you’re not our Quentin?” 

He let out a watery laugh. “Really safe. I, um. Sorry,” he repeated. He was calm now, but his brain felt broken. 

“Stay awake,” Eliot ordered, but his voice was calm and kind. He poked his head out of the room and Quentin could hear him say, “Good. Get Julia home now. It’s time.” 

Quentin tensed at that. Time for what? What if this was some reality where they were evil? There were always evil alter egos. Just because he hadn’t run into any yet… 

“Can I come closer?” Eliot asked. 

“Why?” Quentin replied instinctively. 

“Because you told me to ask before I invaded your space.” 

Quentin was about to argue that he hadn’t, but then he realized Eliot was talking about someone else. He didn’t reply immediately. He wanted to say no, but this was Eliot. Apparently Quentin himself had told Eliot to back off, which explained a lot. Struggling to think about what was most comfortable, Quentin realized it was definitely not Eliot standing in the doorway patiently waiting for Quentin to make decisions. “What did he tell you?” Quentin asked instead. 

“He told me you were going to need us,” Eliot replied simply enough that Quentin was sure it was the whole truth. Good. He couldn’t bear Eliot knowing what had happened over the past few days. “He told me to make sure you knew you were in control, to give you space. Not to lie about anything. Not to leave you alone unless you ask.” 

Quentin nodded a little. That last felt especially relevant. Eliot’s presence earlier was soothing, grounding. He didn’t want to be in the bed, but the floor wasn’t comfortable either. He looked around, but the only furniture in the room either had drawers or was the giant bed. “Is there… Um.” He swallowed and shut his eyes to try to get his words in order. “Chairs?” 

Eliot nodded and gestured for Quentin to follow. He got up and ignored the wobbly feeling in his legs. He was calm, but he could still feel the remains of panic in his muscles. Margo hung up the phone suspiciously quickly as they walked into the room. Quentin spotted a chair in the far corner and wanted it immediately. No one would be able to sit next to him or sneak up behind him in that chair. He knew they were looking at him strangely as he took the wall-hugging route to it instead of walking past them. Thankfully neither said anything. He sat down but avoided eye contact, opting instead for a soft focus on the rest of the room. He was behaving like a scared, trapped animal but he didn’t care enough to try to change. 

Almost in unison, Margo and Eliot sat on the couch across from him. Quentin’s brow furrowed when he realized how close they were sitting, when their hands entwined. He didn’t ask and they didn’t speak, though it was clear they had questions. “Who else is alive?” Quentin asked. 

“We lost Penny and Alice,” Margo told him. “But I guess you were expecting something like that.” She stopped talking abruptly as Eliot elbowed her. She elbowed him back and Quentin felt like he should have laughed, but he also didn’t feel like he’d ever be able to laugh again. 

“You don’t have to wait for me to talk,” Quentin told them because he’d figured out they were doing that by now. “I know I’m… probably scary. But you can talk to me. Might be better.” 

“How long have you been…?” Margo trailed off as Eliot gave her a look. “He said talk to him.” 

“Talk, not interrogate!” Eliot ground out. Quentin actually felt his mouth quirk up a little. 

“Too long,” he said even though part of him wanted them to argue. He craved the normalcy of their banter. 

“Obviously,” Margo said. “Our Quentin looked healthy until he woke up as you. You look like shit, Q.” 

“Thanks,” he said, but it didn’t have the gracious humor he meant it to. “That wasn’t supposed to sound so bitter.” 

He didn’t miss the way Eliot reached his free hand over to Margo so that her hand was clasped in both of his. He must be so upset seeing Quentin like this, not being able to do anything. Eliot was good at hiding his pain, but the hand holding with Margo was definitely a tell. “Are you hungry?” Margo asked. Apparently she was doing most of the talking. Eliot’s silence worried Quentin, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. 

“No,” he shook his head. It was clear she wanted something to do though, so he said, “Could I have some water?” The question stirred something in him. Something he’d been told in another reality. It had been Eliot. Quentin was going to be so broken that he only gave monosyllabic answers except to ask for water. Was he there? Was this it? Had he reached rock bottom finally? That line of questioning consumed his thoughts and Eliot said nothing to interrupt him. Quentin didn’t even realize how deep he’d sunk into his own brain until a glass of water was held out to him. “Thanks.” 

After another awkward pause, Margo got up again. “You’re going to get blood all over the couch, Eliot. Jesus.” 

Quentin looked up at the wound he’d given Eliot. Maybe that was why he was quiet. Maybe it was nothing to do with Quentin. Except he accidentally met Eliot’s eyes and there was a helpless pleading look in them. Margo finished looking at Eliot’s head and left the room- presumably to find something to put on the wound. The silence swelled with awkwardness again. “I’m glad you didn’t kill yourself in this one,” Quentin said in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

Eliot let out some cross between a scoff and a laugh and Quentin felt a little better when he saw some of the tension leave Eliot’s shoulders. “I even cut back on the drugs,” Eliot smirked. Quentin felt a little warmer and realized he was smiling slightly in return. Eliot’s smirk became a genuine smile when he saw that. “I don’t know how much you’ve got left, Quentin. I don’t know if it’s better or worse than what you’ve been through. But we can keep you here- even if you fall asleep. For as long as you want. At least, in theory.” 

Quentin felt his breath leave him in a good way for the first time in ages. He pushed his hopes down as far as he could, but hope was rising in him. “How?” 

“In addition to telling us to shut up and stay out of your bubble, you also told us about _Helvetica’s Compendium of Time Travel_ where we found the spell that can anchor you here. So… remember that book. So you can tell us when you get back.” Eliot was forced to stop talking as Margo sat next to him and started blotting at his head with a wet towel. She left some antiseptic and band aids on the table and curled a leg under herself as she worked. 

“I want to stay,” he told them, just in case there was any doubt. “Not too long, but it- it would be nice to be steady for a little while. And safe.” 

“Well, there is nowhere safer than here,” Margo said without looking away from what she was doing. “You’ve got three people who love you more than words, even if one of them is taking fucking forever to get home with the shit.” 

“Well, she was at work, Margo. You can’t just will the trains to go faster, and she has to stop for the shit, like you said.” 

“Yeah, well I want to get this done before something goes wrong.” Margo cussed a little under her breath and Quentin realized her hands were shaking just a little. Eliot took her hands in his and brought them to his lips where he pressed a long kiss to her fingers. 

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” he assured her and it was the most intimate thing he’d ever seen. If Eliot hadn’t been snuggling up to him in the big bed, Quentin would have thought somehow Eliot and Margo had ended up together in this universe. Eliot turned to Quentin. “We’ve practiced this spell and studied it and its principles, all the possible circumstances… We’ve been getting ready for you for ages, Q. You’re not going anywhere until you’re ready.” 

He nodded because he didn’t have words for his gratitude. This Eliot and Margo seemed like they knew a lot about what was going on with him even if they didn’t know the details. Part of him wanted to tell them everything, tell them how tired and hopeless he felt, how he wasn’t sure if he could do this. He didn’t even know what it was he was supposed to be doing. 

“Okay, but seriously,” Margo interrupted, turning to Quentin. “Let’s get this out of the way now while we’re waiting on Miss Thing-“ 

“Margo-“ 

“-I’m talking. I know we’re supposed to be not invading your bubble, but this spell requires us to be all up in it, so let’s just be clear. Hands everywhere, some kissing, pretty much everything shy of the actual deed.” 

Quentin shrank back a little. She had no idea what she was joking about and he couldn’t fault her, but it made him squirm and he set the water down because he felt uncomfortably full now. Eliot rolled his eyes and Quentin guessed he was doing a good job of not reacting too badly to that bit of news. “Subtle as always,” Eliot teased her. 

“I don’t think I can do that.” 

Quentin’s words seemed to stop the whole room. He didn’t think he’d manage to say them, but there they were. 

“Relax, Quentin. I was embellishing. You know me. We’re not going to be ripping your clothes off or anything. Although you will need to lose the shirt.” 

Quentin shook his head. “Can you please- just-? Stop. Please.” 

Eliot leaned forward. “What do you need Quentin?” 

He shook his head and swallowed against the panic. “I need a bunch of things but I think I also need the opposite of all those things,” he replied honestly. 

“Like what?” Eliot pushed gently. 

“Like I probably need a hug but I also need everyone to stay the fuck away from me.” 

“What does that mean, Quentin?” Eliot asked. It was almost unnerving to have so much of Eliot’s focus, and for him to be so calm and deliberate about it. Quentin just shrugged helplessly. “Okay, so how about we stay away from you and you come over here? Margo and I are perfectly happy to give out as many hugs as you need.” 

Quentin just stared at them and hated how badly he wanted to do that and also not do that. He had to give some ground, though. He was never going to get anywhere if he didn’t. Plus, if he had to go through this spell- and he did, because staying here was probably exactly what he needed to survive whatever came next- he needed to let them touch him. Maybe it would be easier if he took this baby step. He could sense their impatience as he deliberated and as he finally got up and moved slowly to Eliot. He told himself it was because this Quentin was with Eliot, so it should be Eliot, but the fact of the matter was that he felt a little attached to this cool and collected version of the magician. He was calming and steady, and he’d already brought Quentin back once. Part of him just wanted to express his gratitude. 

He sat awkwardly on the couch and slipped under Eliot’s arm before wrapping both of his own around the other man. Eliot held him with just the one arm and Quentin finally relaxed. He felt the warm, solid weight of Eliot’s nose in his hair and it didn’t bother him that he hadn’t been asked. He thought the answer to feeling safe was not having a body, but he was wrong. The answer was to have another one. It just had to smell like Eliot Waugh. There was a faint hint of cologne in there, but it was mostly Eliot and that was inexplicably perfect. “Don’t fall asleep,” Eliot murmured into his hair. Quentin nodded even though he felt like he finally could. He wanted to. Logically, he knew he was rested because this Quentin likely was, but he didn’t feel rested. He felt like he’d been living through one single day that never ended. 

Margo leaned her head on Eliot’s opposite shoulder and somehow it felt like she was hugging him too even though she wasn’t touching any part of him. They stayed like that, silent and solid, bolstering him with their presence until Julia finally arrived. “Hey, Q,” she said with a tight smile. She set a paper bag on the table in front of them all. “Sorry I took so long. They kept delaying the L. You have no idea how hard it is to find fresh rosemary roots. Preserved? Sure. Just the leaves? Everywhere. Fresh? Jesus, I had to hit half a dozen shops.” 

Quentin remained quiet as they explained that they had left the fresh ingredients for the day he arrived. He wondered why they didn’t just keep the plant in the kitchen and harvest the roots later, but he wasn’t about to question their methods when they were about to do nothing short of save his life. Julia immediately pulled them out and started grinding them with a mortar and pestle. Margo got up and came back with some other ingredients, but Quentin had stopped paying attention. He was trying to focus on the smell of Eliot and not the fact that they were going to make him take off his shirt and who knew what else? 

“You okay?” Eliot asked in a low voice meant just for Quentin. 

“Not really,” he replied honestly. “But this is the best I’ve been in a long time, so.” 

“You can stop us if you need to,” Eliot promised. “But we can only do this once, so don’t let us start unless you’re ready.” 

Quentin let out an uneasy and humorless laugh. “I’m not going to be ready any time soon. So let’s just get this over with.” 

“Q, if you’re not comfortable with us…” 

“Me wrapped around you like this is me comfortable with you,” Quentin said in a tight voice. 

Eliot rubbed his back a little and Quentin breathed in his smell to reassure himself about who was touching him. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, including answer this question, but… is there something I’m missing? You can talk to me. To us.” 

Quentin wanted to tell him, wanted him to understand how much trust and effort went into even crossing the room to sit like this, but he knew if he admitted it out loud he would never be able to face anyone again. He didn’t want anyone to know, couldn’t bear the thought of the knowledge in their eyes later, that they might look at him and see _broken_. Not when he still felt like a person, even if he might be a little broken. He could heal. Probably. Hopefully. “Just do the spell,” he said and pulled away. “No matter what happens, don’t stop the spell. Do whatever you have to do to finish it. I don’t care if you have to hold me down screaming, just get it done. You can talk me down later.” 

Eliot seemed even more disturbed by that than Quentin’s meltdown earlier. It was obvious he had his suspicions, but Quentin was going to leave them that way: just suspicions. Eliot didn’t have time to ask because Julia was approaching him with the rosemary amalgamation and started to paint his face. “There are some runes for your chest, too,” she said and Quentin reluctantly pulled away from Eliot. He shivered even before he’d unbuttoned the thing, feeling more unstable than he ever had before. This made his hospital stays feel sane. Eliot grabbed his hand once the shirt was gone and gave it a squeeze. Quentin didn’t look at him, but he squeezed it back. 

He looked up at Julia as she painted her way down his neck and focused on her familiar features, on the look of concentration she had. It helped him to concentrate on how completely non-sexual all of this was. He still couldn’t help but flinch when she drew on the spot he’d been mauled with the knife. She looked up at him, a question in her eyes, but he just nodded. He was determined. She continued and Quentin took slow, deep breaths. This was fine. Everything was fine now and it would be even better later. Finally, Julia drew a J at the top of his sternum. She passed the bowl to Margo who drew an M lower and to the side before sitting and taking his hand after passing the bowl to Eliot. Eliot dipped his thumb in the bowl to write his own initial on the opposite side of Margo’s so that the three formed an unconnected triangle over his heart. Then they were all taking off their shirts and drawing their initials on each other, except the top of the triangle was missing until they handed Quentin the bowl. “Yours goes at the top,” Julia told him as she took Eliot’s and Margo’s hands. “This anchors us all together so you stay here.” 

Quentin nodded and drew three Q’s, one on each of their hearts. He could feel the tincture starting to prickle and wondered if that was the magic or just something that had been mixed in. Julia started chanting and then Margo and Eliot joined in, but with different words. This was complicated, then. Obviously it took three of them to do this, so that’s why it had taken this long for him to find a future where it would work. Then he wondered if they found the book because he told them or if he told them because they’d found the book. Time travel was a headache. More importantly, he wondered what would happen to these versions of his friends if he managed to change the past. Would they cease to be? Would they continue in their own timeline? Was he just traveling through a bunch of parallel universes, or were these branches of a tree that he could accidentally clip and kill if he made the wrong choice? 

His thoughts were interrupted by Julia’s hands on his cheeks. She met his eyes, still chanting. She finished and pressed her lips to his. It was chaste and warm. He felt a little looser when she pulled away and he was calm as Margo’s hand cupped his cheek and turned him to face her. Margo’s lips were on his and Quentin realized what she’d meant when she’d said three people loved him more than words. Eliot’s hand was electric as he turned Quentin’s face. He could feel the magic sealing itself and it washed through him like an icy rapid as Eliot’s lips finished chanting and touched his. Tears leaked from Eliot’s eyes as he pulled away and Quentin realized he was crying too. 

Julia’s sniffle was what finally broke his focus and he turned to realize all four of them were crying. “Jesus, Q,” Julia breathed. She was the only one not directly touching him as they all still had their hands connecting them in a circle. She let go to wipe at her eyes and some of the magic dimmed, though he could still feel it humming in his subconscious. 

“I think what Julia’s trying to say,” Eliot said in a voice that blessedly reminded Quentin of the blasé attitude he’d had at Brakebills, “is that the spell spills some of you into us which is how it keeps you here. Magic being pain, we’re getting a taste of what you’ve been through- or at least how it feels.” 

“Sorry,” he said quietly. He was sorry, though he couldn’t deny how grateful he was to feel like he could breathe again. “Thank you.” 

Julia squeezed his foot with a small smile before joining them on the couch. She curled against Margo and Quentin could feel questions trying to overwhelm his brain. Margo’s hand was still in his even as she curled against Julia, and Eliot made no move to release his hand. Was this just a result of the magic? “You probably want to get some sleep, right Quentin?” Eliot asked. 

Quentin leaned his head on Eliot’s shoulder. “I haven’t slept in days,” he admitted. 

“How does that even work? I thought you never slept?” Julia asked. He turned slightly to look at her. “You and I were kind of the time-travel A team getting ready for this. You told me you wake up, stay for a day, and then move on as soon as you sleep.” 

Quentin swallowed and his grip unintentionally tightened on Eliot and Margo. He felt Eliot’s cheek on the top of his head, a reassuring solid presence that grounded him enough to answer. “It wasn’t safe where I was. I couldn’t fall asleep.” 

Margo squeezed his hand. “You can sleep here. As long as you need.” 

“Tomorrow we’ll talk,” Julia promised. “Rest now. We’ve got all the time in the world.” 

Quentin was almost tired enough to forget everything and agree. Almost. “What’s the date?” 

“September 8th,” Julia replied without missing a beat. 

“But what about the fifteenth?” Quentin pressed. The look on her face was all he needed to know. She had no idea what he meant, but he said it anyway. “September 15, noon, Brakebills time. People keep telling me that date. Telling me that I told them it was really important, but none of them know why.” 

“Okay,” Julia nodded. “Get some rest and we’ll figure it out tomorrow.” 

Quentin didn’t quite nod, but he felt like he did. “Is there a guest room or something?” 

“You can have the bedroom. We’ll take the guest accommodations for now.” 

Quentin spent an hour trying to fall asleep in the big bed, but finally he had to give up. He felt vulnerable with all that empty space around him and the quiet set his nerves on edge because it felt like he should expect something but nothing came. He headed out and realized the two doors down the hall were the bathroom and a linen closet. Where was the guest room? He headed back into the main room and realized there wasn’t one. The couch was a pull-out and all three of them were wrapped up in each other on it. Quentin definitely had questions, but he pushed them down. It didn’t matter right now. Julia saw him first as he stood there and awkwardly debated whether or not to say anything. 

“Everything alright, Q?” 

“I, um.” He looked away because he couldn’t formulate any question besides the one he had about them sleeping together while he was looking right at the source of his confusion“I just can’t sleep alone in that big bed.” 

“Want one of us to stay until you fall asleep?” she asked. 

“That would be really nice,” he replied, feeling awkward. He was drawn to Eliot but didn’t quite want to admit it. He definitely didn’t want to request someone in case he was wrong about the situation. Anyway, it seemed likely that he was only attached to Eliot because he’d basically imprinted on him as the first safe face like a baby bird on its mother. Best to just ask. “Am I…? Am I dating Eliot?” 

Eliot let out a half chuckle. “I don’t spoon people I’m not dating. Anymore. Yes, we’re together.” 

That was even more confusing because Eliot was spooning Margo who was curled around Julia. “Sorry, I’m not… This isn’t meant to sound judgmental-“ 

“All four of us are together,” Margo cut him off. She rolled her eyes at the look Julia gave her. “What? Quentin, you’re tired. You want to sleep. We’ll be here all night if everyone keeps beating around the bush. I for one am not willing to put any of us through that.” Quentin actually laughed a little at her bluntness. It was refreshing. “I’ll have you know that you and I -“ 

“Margo, I wasn’t laughing at that. It’s just… I haven’t felt normal in a while. Trust me, we’ve been married or living together in at least half a dozen realities. But at least you’re consistently defensive about our compatibility.” 

She pressed her lips together with the expression of someone trying to pretend nothing had happened. Quentin looked at them all cozied up together. They made him feel happy, and maybe it was the magic anchoring him to them, but he had no desire to split them up. “The couch can’t be comfortable. How about… How about we try all of us in the bed and… Well, if necessary, I’ll take the couch. It’s really not a big deal.” 

It was a big deal, him even suggesting it, but Quentin was saying it for all of their benefit. It was awkward at first, but soon it felt natural. If they didn’t usually sleep with everyone curled around Quentin, they didn’t let on. It didn’t feel smothering like it did in prison. He felt cradled and protected by them, so it was easy to drift into sleep, finally. It was less easy to wake up alone in a completely different bed, in a completely different room. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently all I had to do to finish this chapter was complain about how it didn't want to be finished?? (Also, that finale derailed me for a little.) But seriously I am so excited to get to the next twist. (It's at least two chapters away, so don't worry too much.)
> 
> No new warnings for this chapter. Just aftermathy things.

Quentin considered giving up right then. The memory of warmth and comfort still clung to him like a shroud. He’d been so hopeful. He’d believed he was safe. What’s worse was that the moment he sat up, his head all but exploded in pain. 

“Oh!” cried out a high voice. He saw a young woman in the corner. Was she dusting? More importantly, why was she wearing such old timey clothes? The whole room was made of stone, with a tapestry on the far wall that he couldn’t quite make out. The place could have been a castle. “You’re awake!” 

He thought that wasn’t terribly remarkable, but apparently it was in this universe. “I’ll fetch the doctor,” she said. “You stay put, sir.” It suddenly occurred to him that this really might be a castle and something might actually be wrong with his head. Shit. Had he gone _back_ in time now? Had the binding spell gone so horribly wrong that he’d been catapulted to the distant past? But then why would Quentin be there? Maybe he wasn’t Quentin. Maybe he was in some long-dead lord’s body. He hurried to find a mirror, but only made it two steps out of the bed before falling flat on his face. 

He was just picking himself up when he heard the heavy sound of the door opening. “Oh, your Highness!” someone exclaimed and suddenly there were feet rushing toward him, picking him up, putting him back in the bed. Quentin held up his hands, barely resisting the urge to fight. There were too many people he didn’t know touching him. The young woman from earlier was now standing with an older woman. There was a butler looking man as well- he’d been the one to speak when they found Quentin on the floor. The older woman immediately began looking him over, touching his forehead and otherwise crowding him. He scooted away, holding up his hands as he tried to ignore the crawling sensation in his muscles. 

“I’m fine. I just got dizzy for a second.” 

“Highness, you’ve had a serious accident. You shouldn’t be out of bed at all,” she insisted. 

“Right,” Quentin agreed. Maybe he was finally losing his mind. What if this was reality and the rest had been some kind of fever dream? Or… serious injury dream? “What exactly did I do again?” 

“You were thrown from your horse, sir. Nasty head injury. For a few days there, we were all very concerned you might not make it.” 

“Oh. Well. I made it,” he said unhelpfully. 

She actually looked up at him and smiled. “That you did, Highness.” 

“Q! Thank god!” 

Quentin looked up at the door to see Julia rushing in for him. He could have said the same thing to her. He was genuinely starting to try to figure out when and how he’d lost his mind. She was in his bubble immediately, climbing into the bed to sit next to him. “I’m good,” he assured her even though he didn’t feel like it was the truth. 

She reached for his hand and he was at least pleased he didn’t pull away. Julia knew him too well not to notice though. Thankfully, she knew exactly what to do. “Thank you, Penelope,” she said kindly. The doctor (did this place have doctors? Seriously, when were they?) seemed hesitant to leave but she did and took the maid and butler with her. Once they left, Julia waved the door shut. Well, at least there was magic here. “You okay? Really. What happened out there? You were acting weird all day, and then…” 

“Julia, where the fuck are we?” Quentin demanded. “Or- or when?” 

“Jesus, Q. How hard did you hit your head?” She reached for what he assumed was the source of his headache and he dodged the hand. She looked hurt, but the explanation he gave her about being from the past seemed to help, once she realized he didn’t just have amnesia. “Aren’t probability spells supposed to just show you a future? You shouldn’t actually end up here.” 

“Honestly, I’ve stopped trying to think about what went wrong or what’s even happening. For a while I was thinking maybe the coin was what tethered your consciousness to your body. Maybe the probability spell actually sends you to the future, and the coin is what brings you back. Maybe that’s how it works.” 

“So are you saying you think you can’t get back?” she asked worriedly. 

Quentin shook his head. “Some of the other versions of me talked to the people around him and left hints for me. I mean, an instruction manual would’ve been helpful, but apparently that was too much work. One of them told me dying would send me back to my body, but maybe not… There was one reality where I’m pretty sure I died. I might not have. I don’t know. I was bleeding out, so it’s possible I passed out before death. Passing out or sleeping is what sends me to the next one.” 

“So- what? You’re just stuck hopping through infinite futures?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “Maybe. One of the hints I keep leaving myself is a date and time. I don’t know what it means and no one else seems to either. Including me. Just that it’s important.” 

“Maybe it has something to do with the past?” 

Quentin was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for Julia. He hadn’t really thought about that possibility. It had been too close to the date he’d been deposited in the future to think about that. “I missed you, Jules. So much.” 

She laughed a little. “What, am I not in any of your other futures?” 

“A few, but I haven’t gotten to really _talk_ to you in any of them. Well… there was one where I accidentally knocked you unconscious. Sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was sort of having a panic attack. I get those a lot now.” 

“Shit.” The silence hung between them, thick but somehow not heavy. “Well if I’m not around, who the hell is queen of Fillory?” 

Everything stopped. Quentin froze. “Fillory?” he echoed. “We’re in Fillory?” He waited a second for her to correct him, but she didn’t. “Jesus Christ, Jules, why didn’t you open with that?!” 

“Isn’t this…? You’re telling me the future isn’t Fillory anywhere else?” 

Quentin was already heading for the window, but Julia caught his wrist before he made it out of the bed. “You shouldn’t be- Quentin!” 

“Julia, I am in motherfucking Fillory. I’m only here while I’m conscious. I need to see it. It’s _Fillory_ , Julia.” 

“Okay,” she conceded. “Just… let me help you, okay?” 

He nodded impatiently, but only because he remembered his last, awful attempt at walking. She came round the bed to help him up. He leaned on her and everything was fine until she put her arm around his waist. Jerking away violently, Quentin whimpered as he hit the ground. He clutched the spot she’d touched, the spot where the knife had wrecked his side in another reality as his autonomy was violently taken from him. He was seeing the room. He knew it was safe and this was just a flashback, but that didn’t stop the tears from wracking his chest and tracking his face. He barely stopped himself from attacking her. 

Julia crouched down on his level and didn’t approach. “Quentin?” she asked uncertainly. 

He held up his hand and she hung back and he was incredibly grateful for that. He pressed his back into the corner between the bed and the wall, not sitting up quite right, but not caring. He just needed to feel like no one was going to come up behind him. He was cradling the memory of the wound in his side as if it still pained him. In a way, it did. Finally, he found his voice. “D-don’t touch my waist,” he requested unsteadily. 

She was looking at him, deep in thought, but she didn’t give voice to whatever she was thinking. “How can I help?” she asked instead. 

“Um.” Quentin swallowed. He was better now, but his terror was still raging just below the surface. “Can you help me up?” 

She did immediately, keeping her hands high, only touching Quentin’s arms as she helped him back to the bed. He caught her hand as she let go. “Can you just… stay?” He wanted to ask her to hold him, but it made him feel too vulnerable to give the request voice. She got the message anyway and laid down next to him, side by side like they used to do when they were kids. “Thanks, Jules.” 

She was silent for a minute before finally taking a breath. “When you woke up from the coma, you didn’t really tell anyone you’d been in the future,” she said. “The Beast was already dead and there was nothing for you to do. I was, um. I was going through a rough time and you ended up focusing on me. You brought me back.” 

“Oh.” Quentin didn’t know why she was telling him this. It seemed obvious. Of course he’d done whatever he could for her. She was his best friend. He’d do anything for her. “That’s good.” 

“I didn’t want to talk about it, but it didn’t matter. You always did exactly the right thing, though. Like you knew I’d been raped.” She let the word hang in the air, but Quentin couldn’t hear the echo of it over his own rising heart beat. “You did know, didn’t you? Not because I’m telling you now, but because you recognized it.” 

He gasped in air, practically choking on it. She squeezed his hand to try to ground him, and it worked but only because his body didn’t seem prepared to go into a full blown panic attack. He didn’t know what he was more upset about- hearing the word, knowing she knew now, or knowing it had happened to his best friend and he hadn’t been able to stop it. “Was it- was it before I-?” 

“Don’t worry about it, Quentin. There’s nothing you or anyone could have done. I survived, which is more than I can say for just about everyone else who was there.” 

“Shit,” he whispered. “Shit, is that how? Is everyone else dead?” 

“No,” she said and she sounded sad. “These were hedge friends. We bit off more than we could chew. Tried to summon a god.” 

Quentin didn’t reply. He didn’t think he could bear knowing what had gone wrong. Julia seemed so calm about it all. Quentin wondered if he would ever be that calm about what had happened to him. “How can you be so-?” 

“It’s been seven years for me. I don’t think I’ll ever be over it, not completely, but I can live with it now.” 

Quentin stared at her hand in his. “It’s been two days,” he whispered. She squeezed his hand again. “I can’t talk about it. I can’t… I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t even defend myself.” 

“It’s terrifying,” she agreed. “Having no control. I promise it’ll get easier though. I promise you, Quentin. You just need to… get further away from it.” 

He nodded and leaned his head on her shoulder. She leaned her head on his head and they stayed like that for several minutes before there was a knock on the door. “It’s probably Eliot and Margo,” she told him. “Do you want me to send them away?” 

Quentin shook his head just as the door opened and Julia’s suspicions were confirmed. “Could you maybe take care of the whole from-the-past explanation, though? I’m… so tired of having to deal with people’s reactions like I don’t already know what they’re going to say.” 

Pulling away gently, Julia headed them off and Quentin slipped his feet under the blankets. Now that he was still, cold was creeping into his bones. He was exhausted even though he’d just woken up. This was Fillory, though. He couldn’t fall asleep before seeing something besides this room. Did Fillory have wheelchairs? Quentin definitely was not up for a long walk (or even a short one), but he needed to see it. Something this good, this much a culmination of everything he’d ever loved… he needed something like this right now. 

Finally, he looked up to see how it was going. He wanted to feel bad about shoving it off on Julia after what she’d just confided in him, but she didn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, it seemed like he’d given her a way to help. Julia of all people probably knew there weren’t a lot of active ways to do that in a situation like this. His heart sank and he looked back down as Eliot walked out of the room. Margo seemed confused as well. Julia’s face was hidden, but Quentin didn’t think she had any more clue than Margo. Did this Eliot hate him for some reason? Or worse- what if he and Eliot were together and Julia had just told him not to be around Quentin? 

Finally, the girls approached and sat in the bed with him. It was a huge bed and he wondered if this was like the last reality, if the four of them were together. Part of him wanted to ask, but all he managed to say was, “Did you send Eliot away?” 

Julia’s face was unreadable. “He’ll be back,” she assured him. “Probably. He just needed a minute.” 

“Eliot’s been weird all week,” Margo shrugged. “Don’t let it bother you.” 

“Are he and I…?” Quentin felt so weird asking, and he wasn’t quite sure why. 

“What?” 

Julia seemed to get it right away. “No, Quentin. We’re the four kings and queens of Fillory, but none of us are together. Not like that. We are family, though more like… really close siblings.” 

Quentin smiled a little even though it meant he’d have to try to fall asleep alone later. “Nothing,” he replied to the questioning look. “This is just… the most surprises I’ve had in a while. I think this is the first time I’ve been single and in a happy sort of situation. I’ve been single and suicidal, single and everyone’s dead, single and on the run from the Beast… Never single and happy. Or in Fillory.” 

“We should take you out then,” Margo grinned. “Quentin Coldwater in Fillory for the first time. It’d be a crime not to show you around.” 

“Do you think you’re still up for it, Quentin?” Julia asked. He could read the subtext in her words and oddly, it seemed like Margo could too. Well, if they were that close, she probably knew Julia as well as Quentin did. He ignored the concerned look on Margo’s face and just nodded. It might do him good to wear himself out. He didn’t want to suffer through a sleepless night. 

“I’ll go see if-“ 

Whatever Margo was going to see was left unvoiced as Eliot came back in, pushing an empty wheelchair. It was wooden and reminded Quentin of a rocking chair, something old fashioned like FDR might have used. “Quentin needs to see Fillory,” Eliot announced, gesturing to the chair with a flourish, “and Penelope will probably kill us all if we let him walk.” 

Quentin just stared, slack-jawed, at Eliot. Had their Quentin told Eliot to make sure he saw it all? Or had he just realized as soon as he heard that Quentin had never seen it? It didn’t matter, because there was Eliot with the chair, reaching a hand to help him into it. Margo and Julia helped as well. The hands on his arms and back didn’t bother him in the least. He barely noticed them because he was too busy thinking about the fact that he was _in motherfucking Fillory_ about to see the sights. Margo and Julia took up positions on either side of him like an escort as Eliot pushed him out of the room. He recognized a few tapestries from the Fillory books and couldn’t help but compare what he was seeing to what he’d imagined for years. He’d gotten a lot right, but some of it was so different from what he’d imagined. 

“Try not to get too excited, Quentin,” Margo told him drily. “It’s not like it’s going anywhere.” 

“I am though,” he pointed out. “I’m only here as long as I can stay awake, and I’m not going to risk hurting your Quentin by not resting when he probably needs it.” 

“And we appreciate that,” Eliot replied. “But seriously, this is just the inside.” 

Some servants (he guessed?) opened the doors and the kings and queens went outside into the garden. They rolled down the paths and finally stopped in a courtyard with a fountain. A statue of Ember and Umber stood in the middle, spouting water from their horns. Quentin felt his eyes fill with tears and he let out a watery laugh. “I’m in fucking Fillory, you guys.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, I know. It's been ages since my last update. This fic isn't dead. My life is just very... I'll let you think up your own excuse because I hate excuses. Anyway, here's this. I need to make a cheat sheet because thinking I could keep track of all this without one was folly.

Quentin woke up to the unmistakable smell of hospital and immediately his heart started racing. He was cuffed to the bed again, both hands, in psychiatric cuffs. That didn’t mean he wasn’t being sent to prison again. He couldn’t go to prison. He couldn’t be locked up in a cell like that again. 

“Whoaaa, easy there roomie.” Quentin whipped his head around. It was the guy from the future where they were on the run. What was his name? John? Jeff? Josh. It was Josh. “You don’t want to appear agitated or they’re going to drug you again. Those drugs are not fun.” 

Quentin just stared at him. “Am I in prison?” he asked fearfully. 

“I mean, kind of. Nutjob prison. You seem really awake today. Usually you just kind of mumble things about time and reality. September something comes up a lot. What happened in September?” 

“I don’t know,” Quentin replied. “It’s Josh, right?” 

“Whoaa! How did you know my name?” 

“You told me,” Quentin lied. Josh seemed like he was on some kind of heavy medication himself. The door opened and suddenly there were doctors coming in, marveling at the fact that Quentin woke up. That was becoming a theme Quentin could do without. His bed was wheeled out so he missed most of whatever Josh was saying. 

“Sorry about that, Quentin.” He looked up at the familiar voice. It was the nurse from Brakebills. He couldn’t remember her name at all. “We wanted you in your own room, but it’s a bit full right now. One’s opened up. Do you know where you are?” 

“Hospital,” he replied and she actually smiled at him. 

“Good, Quentin. That’s really good.” 

“What’s the date?” 

“September 8th,” she replied. “You’ve been here almost a year.” 

“Why?” he asked. “Why am I here? Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at Brakebills?” 

She sighed. “There is no Brakebills, Quentin. That’s a fantasy you’ve struggled with your whole life. You were doing better for a time. Do you remember what happened a year ago that brought you back to us?” 

Quentin shook his head. She didn’t seem surprised, but she also didn’t seem ready to tell him. “Here we are,” she announced in a cheerful voice as he was pushed into a distinctly non-cheerful room. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out it was originally meant as a closet. “Now, I’m going to take those cuffs off you so you can see Dr. Fogg. He’ll be thrilled to know you’re awake and aware.” 

Quentin nodded numbly and watched as she released him. His wrists were raw. He’d definitely been here a while. “First, we’d better put something on that, yes?” He did nothing as she went to work applying some kind of ointment that stung and bandages that chafed unpleasantly on his wrists. Finally, she looked up. “Still with me, Quentin?” Apparently his silence had been worrisome, so he nodded. She gave him a smile and said, “Stay right there while I get the chair.” 

The thought of a sterile metal wheelchair instead of the warm wooden one he’d been in while his friends took him around Fillory was soul crushing. The more pressing question he had though, was why was this a future? Why was he in a mental hospital being told that Brakebills wasn’t real? These futures had to start from changes made after he’d cast the spell, not from some point before that. If he’d never woken up from that curse, that would be one thing, but he had. So how could this be the future? 

She returned and helped him into the chair. He’d definitely been there a long time. His legs were rail thin and didn’t really want to hold his weight because they’d atrophied so badly. Could this much damage be done in only a year? Dean Fogg was blind as Quentin expected him to be, but his hands seemed fully healed. The man smiled when he heard the chair being pushed in. 

“Quentin!” he greeted warmly. “You have no idea how happy I am to know you’re with us again!” 

The nurse patted him on the shoulder and left, closing the door audibly. (For the Dean’s benefit, he assumed.) “What’s going on?” Quentin asked. He shouldn’t have, but he did. 

“What do you remember, Quentin?” 

“I remember casting a probability spell at Brakebills. I shouldn’t be here.” 

The Dean’s shoulders slumped a little. “Brakebills again, I see.” His voice was still warm, but there was disappointment in it. “Quentin, just under a year ago, you were abducted by a man you only ever referred to as ‘the Beast.’ You were tortured for three days before the police finally found you.” 

“And you think that caused some kind of mental break that landed me here,” Quentin said. That was something. He didn’t know why everyone thought Brakebills didn’t exist, but if he’d been attacked by the Beast in this timeline, that meant he might still be out there. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of in that,” the Dean assured him. “What you went through was horrific.” 

“I don’t remember it,” he replied honestly. If it was horrific, there should be nothing suspicious in that statement. 

The Dean nodded knowingly. “It will probably come back to you. Maybe slowly, maybe all at once. Maybe never. We do want to keep you here a bit longer for observation, Quentin. To make sure you won’t backslide, but also to be here for you should the memories start to come back.” 

“Oh. Okay,” he said. There was nothing else he could think to reply except a single “No,” when the Dean asked if he had any questions. 

He was taken back to his room soon after, but he asked to stay in the chair. He didn’t want to be prone anymore, even though he hated that chair and the reminder of what else had been. Once he was alone and his door was shut, Quentin finally had some time to think. Could he have been cursed the same way again? Would someone try to summon that same demon to get him out or was he on his own? He probably wouldn’t be able to summon Penny again, but he started humming the song to himself anyway. His body itched and moved oddly and, needing to know why, Quentin pulled his shirt off. What he saw took his breath away. His torso was more scar than skin. Tiny symbols had been carved into him everywhere. Some were not so tiny. All of them seemed to add up to one big spell, though Quentin had no idea where to even begin trying to decipher it all. 

He traced some of the patterns with shaky fingers. He did his best to memorize as much as possible, though it was upsetting to look at. It was upsetting to feel as well. No wonder he moved oddly. The scars made his skin tight and immobile. They brushed awkwardly against his shirt. Some were still pink and upraised, like they weren’t done healing. They would have needed stitches, Quentin was certain. 

Suddenly there was a tap at his door. “Quentin!” a voice whispered urgently. “Quentin!” 

He gulped and felt ill, though he wasn’t sure why. The whisper came again, but this time it was clipped and angry. His mind blew open and he could see Martin Chatwin standing over him with a knife. _Quentin,_ the Beast hissed angrily. _Hold still so I can finish._

The hospital reappeared and he was being held down by several nurses. One of them was holding an empty syringe. “It’s okay, Quentin,” said the Brakebills nurse. “You’re safe here.” 

He wanted to argue that he didn’t feel safe, that none of this was real, but his mouth was too heavy to move and his vision was growing fuzzy and then it was gone. 

Stirring a little, Quentin felt warm. He was in bed on his back, but the hospital smell was gone and someone was curled into his side, head on his chest. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know it was Eliot. He knew Eliot’s smell by now. It wasn’t lost on Quentin that almost every Eliot he’d met had quit smoking. He liked it. No smoke smell to cover up what mattered. 

“Sleep well?” Eliot mumbled without moving. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Quentin assured him. Without thinking, he started rubbing the man’s back. “Go back to sleep.” 

Eliot preened a little, snuggling closer. “I missed you,” he murmured. 

“Yeah, where have I been?” he asked out of genuine curiosity. 

“Remember when you were in that coma at Brakebills? You showed up here yesterday. The you from that spell. So I guess now we know you actually were in the future, not just a projection.” Quentin almost stopped breathing because what Eliot was saying sounded impossible. Had he already been here? How? “Bit of a surprise for him to wake up to me blowing him.” 

Eliot chuckled a little and looked up at Quentin only to frown. “Quentin?” 

“S-still me,” he said unsteadily. 

“Oh- shit, sorry,” Eliot said and pulled away a little- to give Quentin space, he guessed. “You just, that thing you did to my back, I thought…” 

Quentin wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was fine, but if he was in this future again, that meant he might end up in any of them again. Did this mean he was on an endless loop? Would it go in order? Would he pick up where he left off or on day two? It mattered, because day two in prison meant getting assaulted again and again until Penny showed up to break him out. Quentin couldn’t do that again, he couldn’t survive it again. 

“Quentin,” Eliot said, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Hey. Talk to me.” 

“I can’t do it again,” he said, his voice shaking so badly that he was surprised Eliot understood him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Every time I fall asleep I’m in a new future, but if I’m here… I can’t go back to-“ 

“We’ll figure it out, okay? It’s okay. We’ll get you back to Brakebills.” 

“Not Brakebills. Not- not Brakebills.” 

Eliot didn’t try to make Quentin explain anymore, just pulled him into a hug. He probably recognized the look Quentin had as the same one (or something close to it) that had dressed his face when he woke from the coma. _Broken. Yes. No. Can I have some water?_

Burying his nose into Eliot’s shoulder, Quentin breathed deep. If this was odd behavior, the other man didn’t let on. He hugged Eliot back, his grip a little tighter than was probably comfortable. Eliot didn’t complain though, only tucked his head against Quentin’s. So Quentin focused on the warmth and the solid presence and the comfort and just breathed. He breathed until it didn’t take effort, until it felt good. Then he stayed where he was, because this was a safe reality. This was one of the better ones, and he had no desire to rush through it. 

Eliot was playing with Quentin’s hair gently, so Quentin rubbed his back. It didn’t seem to matter that he was the wrong Quentin. There was an intimacy here that felt natural, that he both craved and feared. How close would Eliot get to the truth of what Quentin was trying to forget? 

Time passed and Quentin had no idea how much of it before he decided he needed to try to talk at least some of this out. “Is it September ninth?” he asked quietly. 

Eliot reached past him and turned on the screen to his phone. “Yeah, how did you know? Is something supposed to happen?” 

Quentin shook his head and settled onto his back again. “Until now, I always woke up on September eighth. So if I’m here, and it’s the ninth… I don’t know if I’m in a loop or what.” 

Eliot sat up on his elbows to get a better view of Quentin’s face. “So do you think you’ve seen it all?” 

Quentin let out a shaky sigh. “I hope so. I don’t want any more surprises.” 

Eliot gave him an appraising look before arriving at a decision that required him to get out of bed. “Come on, you should eat.” 

Quentin’s stomach rumbled as if to agree with the new plan. He got out of bed and followed after Eliot. His body felt simultaneously relaxed and shaky from being so tense and now being calm. The floor jarred his steps awkwardly and his walk seemed almost drunk. Eliot didn’t mention it and Quentin was glad. “Tell me about the past,” Quentin said as they sat down. 

Eliot’s eyebrows rose and he scoffed a little. “No, absolutely not. You told me not to fuck with the timeline.” 

“I’m not talking about that,” Quentin rolled his eyes. “You remember how bad it was for you. I’ve gotten enough clues from various futures to know that you’re in a really bad place. Well, not you, but… you know. Some futures you kill yourself, Eliot. And I’m not going to let that happen, so if you wouldn’t mind… helping. Tell me what’s worth hanging onto? What brought you back?” 

Eliot had been poking around in the fridge, but he’d shut it while Quentin was talking. Now he was standing across the counter, staring at him seriously. “You did,” he replied simply. With a shrug, he returned to his task, but he kept talking. This was the Eliot Quentin knew. This was the Eliot who couldn’t give weight to things that were important, who could only tell someone about the dark, deep things if he made them sound like they didn’t matter. “I drifted for a while, slowly trying to drink myself to death, and you were just always around. Eventually being around you became better than killing myself, and then… Well, you know what you woke up to.” 

Quentin felt his heart sink. Being told he was a better alternative than death wasn’t much. He hoped Eliot was being flippant, but he honestly couldn’t tell. What if the intimacy he’d sensed was just his imagination? What if this was really just some mutually beneficial arrangement between them? Eliot looked up at Quentin’s silence and actually walked around the counter to hug him. “Relax. There was more stuff in the middle. We’re happy together. We have _feelings_ for each other.” 

Quentin put his arm around Eliot’s waist to stop him from leaving. He looked into the other man’s eyes and Eliot looked back, his gaze soft. He was tempted to ask for something, but he knew he wasn’t ready for it, whatever it was. “I know you miss your Quentin… but I hope that when you wake up tomorrow, it’s me.” 

Eliot kissed his hair and pulled free to return to cooking. “Well, I’ve gone longer without sex,” he teased and Quentin didn’t laugh. Eliot rolled his eyes playfully. “Relax. It was a joke. I mean, it was true, but I don’t care. I promise. And I’m here for you. If you can’t get back to Brakebills, I’ll be here. You took care of me, and now it’s my turn to take care of you.” 

Quentin gave him a weak smile. “We end up together in a lot of futures,” Quentin told him, just to keep the conversation going. Maybe he wanted to keep it focused around them as well. He didn’t know what he wanted or what he was trying to do aside from get through. 

“Well, we do have great chemistry,” Eliot laughed. He was doing something at the stove, but Quentin couldn’t see what. “If you want, we could visit some people today. Julia and Margo actually only live about half an hour’s train ride from us.” 

“That would be nice,” Quentin agreed. “But maybe if I’m here tomorrow. Today, I’m just… There was something a couple days ago and I’m still kind of… I just need some time to put myself back together a bit.” 

Eliot didn’t reply but Quentin could see a little bit of tension in his shoulders. An inexplicable urge to press it out came over him, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to lead this Eliot on. He didn’t even know if he’d be capable of this kind of relationship, though a part of him really wanted to be. He felt safe with the weight of Eliot on his chest as he slept. Finally, Eliot dished up a plate of… something. There were eggs and some other things involved and Quentin looked at it dubiously as Eliot set it in front of him. 

“Just eat it.” Eliot watched him expectantly, like he knew something Quentin didn’t. With great trepidation, he took a bite. He held it toward the front of his mouth as he chewed, afraid of it until he realized it was the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten. Eagerly, he took a second bite and Eliot gave him a self-satisfied smirk. “That is your favorite breakfast, and yes I am cheating. I am here to make you feel better, and I intend to play all of my cards.” 

Quentin actually slowed his eating a little and gave Eliot a look. His heart swelled a little to know that Eliot knew things like his favorite food- no, not even his favorite food. He specifically knew what breakfast was Quentin’s favorite. Quentin didn’t even know this was his favorite breakfast. Eliot knew things about Quentin that Quentin himself didn’t even know and that was a little weird. Somehow it was still touching. 

“And when I get back, I want to play all of my cards. So, I mean… if you have any to give me that I don’t already have.” 

Eliot touched his hand and Quentin shivered a little as goosebumps formed on his arm. “Really, Quentin. You don’t need anything. You were already enough before the spell. Just be there. That’s all.” 

Quentin smiled a little. “Okay.” Jesus, he thought to himself as it hit him. Jesus, he was falling for Eliot.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so slow at posting these updates. I'm sorry. I really want this to be a slow-burn kind of fic and that's what's killing my speed. I know how this is all going to work out and the middle scenes just don't want to be written. I might even have a sequel in mind?? The point is I'm struggling not to skip to the next reveal/days/futures I like best.
> 
> Anyway. I see you, FTB. >:)

The first thing Quentin knew was that he was thirsty. He could’ve been hungry too, but mostly his mouth was drier than the Sahara and his throat hurt and he needed to fix that. The second was that he was alone in a bed. His eyes felt swollen and he opened them to see the cracked ceiling of the shithole. Quentin stared at it a while, letting his eyes follow the spider web of cracks as if he could repair them just by passing his gaze over them enough times. It felt familiar, so this Quentin probably did it all the time. Why not? If all he did was drugs all day, staring at the ceiling was probably a reasonable pastime. 

Quentin had every intention to remain in bed for an indeterminate amount of time before he heard someone in the kitchen. Cautiously and slowly, he started to sit up and push the blankets off. Unfortunately, he was still quite high and ended up stumbling and caught himself on the wall. If whoever was in the shithole didn’t know he was here before, they definitely did now that they’d heard the thud of his hand and shoulder against the wall. 

“Quentin?” 

Eliot’s voice. Why was Eliot in the shithole? Quentin racked his brain. He couldn’t remember any futures living in the shithole with Eliot…

The door opened and in walked the subject of his thoughts. Quentin relaxed a little. Except for the gnawing confusion about his feelings, Eliot’s presence reassured him. “You’re awake. Good. Let’s get some water in you, maybe some coffee and food… I called Margo and she’s coming over.” 

Quentin just stared in confusion as Eliot guided him by the elbow out into the kitchen. He saw the mess of takeout menus and finally remembered. Eliot didn’t live here. This was an addict Quentin, one who lived alone. “Who’s dead here?” he rasped. His throat was drier than he thought it was. 

“Okay, so maybe coffee first.” 

Quentin sighed. “I know I was high when you got here. How long was I out?” 

“Just for the night,” Eliot said as he poured some water into a coffee pot. “You’re not mad that I called Margo?” 

Quentin struggled to remember what he had told this Eliot, but between the drugs and the variations of reality that had made this Eliot seem so long ago, he had nothing. “I don’t know if I was too high to tell you this yesterday, but I’m not your Quentin. And I’ve been through way too many variations of the future since you last saw me so I didn’t even know Margo was alive, okay?” 

Eliot gave him a shrewd look that seemed unconvinced that Quentin’s trip wasn’t inspired by acid, so he launched into the whole tired explanation before finally finishing with, “Is it September ninth?” 

Eliot stared at him for a moment and Quentin really hoped he wouldn’t have to repeat this every time. If he was cycling through again, he needed the silver lining of not having to explain himself over and over. Finally, Eliot pulled out his phone to check the date and nodded. “Good. Okay. So what I’m getting is that I woke up on September eighth in every single one of these realities, and now I’m waking up the next day. So I think I’m living through it all in order, just… one day at a time. You haven’t been in contact with your Quentin, so you probably don’t know September fifteen. It’s this date that apparently means something important. At least a few versions of me told everyone to tell me that I needed to know that, though so far no one knows why I needed to tell myself that.” 

“I need a drink.” 

Quentin smiled a little as Eliot pulled a bottle from the fridge and poured it into a coffee mug. He stood up a little unsteadily because, even if there was something terrifying in his future involving day two, figuring something out was exciting. This meant that there could be more clues, more things to figure out if he had this date. He could explore more and talk to more people. Someone else had to know about the fifteenth. “Margo,” Quentin said urgently. “She might know something. Or- or hell, even Penny. I had to have talked to one of you about it.” 

Eliot just raised an eyebrow and texted with one hand while drinking with the other. “Margo’s on a train, but I just texted- Yep, Penny says no.” 

“Margo’s on a train?” Quentin repeated.

Eliot nodded. “I’m worried about you, Q. I was planning an intervention.” 

Quentin smiled again. “That’s so sweet.” 

“We all knew you had problems, but we didn’t know it was this bad…”

“Well… I can’t really tell you why he is this way. Sorry. But I’m going to fix it. I don’t know how, but there has to be a way. This isn’t going to happen to me.” 

“Yeah, that’s what you said when you woke up. You were going to fix it all. Good job, by the way.” 

Quentin frowned a little. Yeah, he could see himself ending up here if he went through all of this for nothing. If he’d suffered like this and Alice was still dead… “What about Julia?” She would know. 

“Julia died fighting the Beast.” 

Quentin nodded. He didn’t even feel sad anymore when people told him who was dead. There was a pang, but not shock or horror. “It’s impressive how numb I am to it all. And it’s not the drugs, I swear. I’ve just… seen everyone dead so many times… But I will fix it, Eliot. I won’t quit. If he couldn’t tell you what happens on the fifteenth, then he didn’t make it as far as I did. I’m already ahead of him. He left me a note and the only thing he figured out was that if I die I return to my body. I’ve seen it all now. I know how bad it gets.” 

“No offense, Q, but how can you know how bad it gets? If this is only day two?” 

Quentin got quiet for a moment. “Look, it’s just… I know it could get worse. And there’s one future where I really… if I end up there on day two… Let’s just say it was so bad I couldn’t sleep. And sleeping is what sends me to the next one. I’ve got a pretty good idea. I know it can get worse. I’m trying to be positive here, El.” 

“Did you just call me El?” 

Quentin shrugged. “It just came out.” 

“Exactly how many futures are we dating in?” 

“Enough,” Quentin replied, feeling his cheeks heat up. It felt weirdly personal to talk about this with an Eliot who barely even knew him. It was also hard trying to navigate different relationship dynamics every time he woke up and that smirk Eliot was giving him wasn’t helping. Quentin was too confused about his feelings already. He didn’t even have time for feelings like this. 

Eliot seemed to get the hint from Quentin’s tone that it wasn’t the time to even joke about flirting. That was good because Quentin was certain that he wouldn’t be able to take any kind of flirting from Eliot right now- joke or otherwise. “So, do you at least know what kind of thing the fifteenth is? Does something happen? Are we supposed to be somewhere or do something?” 

Quentin just shrugged helplessly. “You now know everything I know. I’m hoping I get some new information this go-around. Maybe I’ll have something more for you tomorrow.” He stopped and frowned for a moment. “Actually, there is one thing.” Immediately Quentin started looking for a pen. There wasn’t really any paper, so he grabbed the take out menu with the widest margins and started scribbling. “I think this is a spell. The last future I was in, these were, um… They were carved into me. They might not be exact. I had to memorize them.” 

“Carved into you?” 

“This whole thing where people repeat what I say is getting old, Eliot. I know you’re not doing it on purpose, but maybe just… Pretend I’ve told you stuff about two hundred times before you respond.” 

“Is that how many futures there are?” 

Quentin shook his head. “Honestly, I lost count. Pretty sure there are more. This is number two, by the way. You are in future number two.” 

“So this is day two of future two?” 

Quentin laughed a little. “Yes. Stop making fun of me.” 

Eliot was smiling a little and Quentin felt that pull toward him again so he just cleared his throat and tried to get serious once more. He passed the paper to Eliot. “Does any of that look familiar?” 

Eliot held it close to his face, squinting as he examined the symbols. “Maybe?” he finally decided. He lowered the menu and looked at Quentin. “I think we should take it to an expert. Maybe they can figure it out.” 

Quentin nodded. “That-“

They both turned as someone knocked on the door, but Eliot seemed less on edge about it than Quentin felt. As the other man opened the door to let Margo in, Quentin realized he’d already forgotten about the supposed intervention being planned for him. He grabbed the menu back and started trying to draw some more of the symbols as Eliot explained why they weren’t really having an intervention. 

The look on Margo’s face was concerned and pitying and Quentin didn’t think he could deal with any more of that. So before she could say anything, Quentin looked Eliot square in the eye and said, “Margo and I are dating in some of the futures too.” 

Everyone looked confused until Quentin started to smile a little. Then, as they both smiled, he felt a laugh bubbling in his chest and soon they were all laughing a little. Eventually, they wound up on the couch, talking about the symbols. Margo didn’t know any more than Eliot, but they had both decided to take it to Brakebills. “You’re staying here though,” Eliot told him. “You need a shower and… I don’t know what else besides food, but you should not be in public.” 

Quentin laughed as Eliot insisted he was serious. “Just give me a little bit. I’ll get cleaned up. I promise you won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me.” 

“That’s not-“ 

Quentin patted Eliot’s knee. “Don’t worry. It’s practically impossible to offend me anymore.” 

The truth was that he was so happy any time someone was alive that they could have stabbed him and he might have forgiven them- as long as it didn’t send him back to his body without enough information. The shower could have been cleaner, but it did the job. Quentin was at least glad that he didn’t appear to have any track marks, though once the dirt and sweat was gone it became painfully aware just how skinny and unhealthy he looked. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to end up here. 

Quentin found the most respectable clothes he could and dressed, feeling self-conscious about the worn-out sneakers as he returned to the main room. Eliot and Margo gave him smiles and a silence that indicated they’d been talking about him and were trying not to let on how worried they were. He imagined it was even more difficult being presented with him in clothes that were now too big and a face that was paler and a bit more sunken than it had appeared. Quentin guessed he’d had either makeup or something to make his skin a healthier color which also hid the shadows. It must’ve gotten washed off in the shower and he had no idea where to get more or how to put it back on. 

“Better,” Eliot decided before standing and hooking his arm into Quentin’s elbow. Margo mirrored him on Quentin’s other side and he couldn’t help but remember the future where he was with them and Julia. “So, let’s get someone to look at your creepy spell.” 

Brakebills didn’t look too different from what it had been. In fact, this Brakebills looked exactly the same as it had when Quentin left. He wondered if it ever changed. His legs felt a bit like lead as they walked. This was taking a lot more out of him than he thought it should. Addict Quentin apparently didn’t get out much. Insisting he didn’t feel hungry and would eat after was probably a bad idea, too. 

“You okay, Quentin?” 

Quentin looked at Eliot and realized the other man was a bit closer than he should be. Quentin was leaning on him. “Sorry,” he apologized immediately and stood up straighter. By the time they reached the professor’s office, Quentin was almost too tired to pay attention. He didn’t know this professor, so there was even less incentive to pay attention. His head was killing him. Was this withdrawal? Eliot was giving him another concerned look and he murmured, “Headache.” 

Eliot patted his knee and they waited as the professor consulted a few books. Quentin blinked slowly. Maybe he should have stayed home. 

“Okay.” They all looked up suddenly as the professor finally addressed them. What was her name? Quentin had missed it. “I can’t say for certain what these mean, especially without the rest of them, but I think I know where to start looking, and I believe Professor Formian of House Healing can help. Can I hang onto this and get back to you in a few days?” 

Quentin felt his heart sink. “Is there anything you can tell us today?” 

She seemed hesitant to make any guesses, but he didn’t care. “It’s definitely some kind of curse, but I really don’t want to say for certain without the rest of the symbols. Where did you say you found these again? This is very high level, dangerous, dark stuff.” 

“Traveling salesman,” Quentin lied easily. She seemed unconvinced and he knew she was judging how sick he looked. 

“Quentin, whatever you’re trying to do, I’d like to remind you what happened last time you fooled around with high level, experimental magic like this.” 

He sighed. “I have no intention of using any of that magic. I just want to understand it. My interest is purely academic, I promise.” 

Whatever she was talking about, he wouldn’t remember. He didn’t know her, so he’d have to ask Eliot and Margo later what she meant. Then again, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to mess with high level magic he didn’t understand in the future, the present, whatever. This probability spell had put him off anything complicated for the rest of his life. Maybe that was what she was talking about. Something like this had to be a cautionary tale. 

They parted amicably, with lots of hand shakes and promises to talk tomorrow about what the professor from house healing had to say. Quentin was tired, more tired than he’d been since this started and that was saying something. “The whole thing feels like one never-ending nightmare. Except one you have to be awake for. I never get to sleep. Every time I go to sleep, I’m awake again,” he mumbled as they walked. Margo was giving him a concerned look but Quentin didn’t entirely understand why. He felt a bit unsteady, sure, but it wasn’t like he was about to pass out. Then again, the world seemed a little tilted. “Is this what withdrawal is like?” he wondered aloud. 

Eliot patted his hand. “We’ll get you home soon and you can sleep it off.” 

“I don’t know, I think… I need to go to rehab.” 

“What?” 

Shit, it had happened again. Addict-Quentin must have passed out because there he was, in bed with Margo. He shut his eyes and searched his brain frantically. He recognized this place. It was nice. “We’re married, we watch trash TV,” he stated. He swallowed. “Sorry, um. It’s hard to keep track. Still me, by the way. Just… cycling through the shitshow.” 

“Why do you need to go to rehab?” 

“No-! Oh, no. I-I don’t need to go to rehab,” Quentin stammered. “There’s this future version of me who’s… never mind. September ninth?” 

She stared at him like he was nuts so he reached for whoever’s phone was on the nightstand and checked. September ninth. Day two of future three. He braced himself and launched into it again. It almost felt good to know the rules now. Margo didn’t understand why he was excited to tell her about how the shitshow worked, but it didn’t matter. He could beat this now that he knew the rules. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I ain't even right now.  
> (But the real reason this update was so "fast" is because NTYTD (Magicians rp forum) is a bit slow right now hahaha. But I promise if you go there and join, I will feel indebted to you and want to post new chapters faster...?)
> 
> Also, it's def a mistake that I made several chapters ago that Quentin apparently knows Martin is the Beast and not Plover, so we're going to roll with that and assume someone in one of the futures I didn't spell out told him. *awkward thumbs up*

Quentin had had enough talking and treading water. Yesterday, they’d gone to Brakebills and not accomplished too much but it had felt good to _do something_ for a change. It was easy to talk Margo into taking a tour of their neighborhood. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised, but the moment they stepped outside his jaw dropped. 

“Holy shit…. We’re in suburbia? Is this even suburbia? There’s way too much grass… and- and mailboxes.” 

Margo grinned wryly and scoffed. “We wanted to get away. Too many memories. Besides, we thought it’d be a nice place to have kids. Not that we can anymore, but it was a nice dream.” 

“Is this the kind of thing I want to not know in case it screws up time?” 

She gave him a sad look that he didn’t quite understand. “There’s nothing you can screw up with this one… But I think not knowing is better. My Quentin and I never talked about whether or not you should know, but I think he’d agree it’s something you should find out for yourself. Hey, maybe it won’t happen for you. I hope not.” She threaded her fingers into his hair and cradled his head and the look in her eyes was a mature kind of love he’d never seen in her before. He’d gotten hints of it in other realities, but never this intense. “I want you to live the longest, happiest, fullest life anyone has ever lived. Surround yourself with anyone and everyone who loves you and cherish everyone.” 

He smiled uncertainly. Was she dying? She was talking like someone who was dying. “I’ll do my best,” he promised, thinking it must be very important the way she was delivering it. If she was dying, at least he could promise her to fulfil what might be a dying wish… He grabbed her hand gently and removed it from his head but decided to keep holding it. “I know that to an extent, I feel some of the emotions and attachments of each Quentin whose life I’m invading, but a lot of them are staying with me. Some are getting stronger. When I cast this spell, I wanted to hate you and Eliot and now…” He shrugged, leaving the rest unspoken. He wasn’t even sure what went in the gap. He what? He loved them? He would die for them? It was too intense and Quentin needed a break. He couldn’t deal with all of this world-shattering, hero quest today. He couldn’t deal with all of the confusing emotions. He just wanted to _be_.

“I know. When you got back, you kept us all really close. When Eliot killed himself, for a while I was worried he’d killed you too.” 

Quentin’s heart clenched painfully. He’d forgotten how Eliot had gone in this reality. He hated thinking about him being that pained and desperate. Quentin squeezed Margo’s hand and said, “Don’t worry. I’ve talked to him in other futures. I’ve asked him what would keep him here, what was going on, how I can stop him. Or how I did stop him. There are futures where I managed that much at least.” 

“What else? Are there any where you saved all of us? Do you know how to…?”

Her face fell as he shook his head. “There is one where we’re all alive… except someone named Victoria. But the Beast is alive, too. We were holed up in some cave, on the run… He showed up and I was bleeding pretty badly. I passed out from blood loss, but I don’t think I’ll see that future again. There’s no way any of them had the medical know-how to fix something like that. I’m glad, though.” 

They left the main road and headed down a path. This was a really nice neighborhood. It had its own park with a small lake and a bike path. Margo wasn’t lying when she’d said this would be a good place to raise a family- not that Quentin wanted that. It didn’t sound entirely unappealing as he pictured a blanket spread out in the grass near the water, picnic basket filled with food being eaten by two overexcited rug rats. He could picture them running around while he and Margo sat and watched and held hands and talked about nothing. Margo’s voice interrupted his thoughts as she asked, “Why? If everyone is alive, wouldn’t you want to see them?” 

Quentin shook his head, feeling his throat tighten. The happy vision had gone and as the lake grew closer, he could see the murky water in it. It wasn’t the kind of water he’d want to swim in. It probably wasn’t the kind of water he’d want to eat near either. “I fucked it up. I was so happy to finally find Alice alive… I let Eliot do something stupid. He’s not dead, but he might as well be.” He released her hand and tried to ignore the feeling that he was failing and betraying every single one of them, in all of their variations. “I know that I might not ever see any of these futures. I might end up creating a new one… Who knows? Maybe there’s a Quentin after me who’ll cast the spell and see my future. I don’t know. I just know that it feels like all of you matter. All of this feels real and important and I should be used to the death by now, but things keep happening, things that get to me…”

She ran her fingers up his arm and then across and around his shoulders. Most of the people he was with in the future respected that he wasn’t their Quentin, but Margo didn’t. Maybe Quentin should mind, but really he liked that she could be so effortlessly intimate with him. He didn’t want to have sex with her or anything too intense, but the casual touches were nice. “It’s a bit late for it today, but if you’re still here tomorrow we should go find Julia and Penny. I mean, if you want. I know you’ve probably seen them in other-“

“That sounds great,” Quentin interrupted. He didn’t like when Margo undermined her own ideas. The Margo he knew didn’t qualify things or mince words. She said what she meant and she never apologized for it. Then the thought occurred to him that this might be her version of respecting that he wasn’t her Quentin. She didn’t know him as well as the version of him that had been shaped by years of her future, and she knew it. For Quentin, it was constantly and painfully obvious. It was in the pauses where they tried to remember who he used to be, in the aborted thoughts and touches, and he wished he could just move his hands and make it all normal- for all of them. Nothing could be easy, though. The debacle that was his probability spell couldn’t even give him the courtesy of staying in a future long enough to get his footing, though it felt easier when he wasn’t trying to change anything. This walk with Margo was peaceful. Touring the gardens in Fillory had been peaceful. “Did I tell you I got to see Fillory?” She lit up a little and the conversation grew brighter with her. It wasn’t all bad. Quentin needed to remember that. Maybe he needed to take a break every now and then as well. By the time they made it around the lake and back to the main road, Quentin was going on about the statues of Ember and Umber while Margo was still trying to wrap her head around Eliot as High King. She had no doubt he was perfect for the title, of course. It was the idea of a future where he was alive that had clearly thrown her. She couldn’t get enough of hearing about him. It was painfully obvious how much she missed her friend. They got back to the house and Quentin was almost sorry the walk was over and the sun was going down. "I won’t let him die this time. I don’t know if what I do when I get back will affect your future, but I’ll do everything I can to make sure it’s okay.” 

With a sad smile, Margo cupped his cheek. “I’ve made my peace with it… I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, but it’s been years, Quentin. We’ve made a life and it’s a good one. I’m not sad that we ended up here.” 

He returned the smile and the sadness with it. “It doesn’t seem like too bad a place to be.” 

For a moment he thought they might kiss as her eyes dipped to his lips, but she just patted his cheek gently before letting go. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit tired. I think I’m going to turn in and tomorrow… As much as I don’t want you to have to suffer through the bad ones again, I’d really like to see you again tomorrow. We’ll find Penny and Julia. They’ll probably get a kick out of you.” 

“Maybe not Penny,” Quentin replied as he looked askance. “Almost every Penny I’ve run into has complained about how loud I used to think.” 

Margo’s laugh was a beautiful sound that made him smile self-consciously. There was a warmth in this house that he hadn’t felt the first time he was here. There was something else too that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it was probably just the awkwardness of trying to figure out how to be around this Quentin. Maybe it would be easier this go-around. Maybe all of them would get used to him and his familiar-yet-alien qualities. He’d reached the point where it didn’t truly faze him and he was only awkward because everyone around him was. Then again, he was different this time around than he had been before. He’d probably be different for each of their tomorrows, but maybe the new normal of a different Quentin each day would get easier for them, too. 

Margo went to bed, but Quentin couldn’t sleep, not really. He stayed out in the main room on the couch and flipped through some of the books he and this Margo had collected. There weren’t many, which seemed unlike Quentin. Then again, if he’d watched half his friends die because of Fillory maybe Quentin wouldn’t want that kind of reminder. Except there was one- a small one. 

He’d missed it his first go-around but there, behind the rest of the books, flat against the back of the case, was a small copy of _The Girl Who Told Time_. He pulled it out almost numbly, wondering if he’d left it for himself. The thought of diving into Fillory now should be comforting, but it wasn’t. He remembered now what kind of monster Plover was and even touching the collection of his words felt dirty. Quentin felt dirty for enjoying the adventures of the Chatwin siblings because he knew now that the adventures were more of an escape. He didn’t even want to open it, but if he’d left himself anything, it was this book. 

Quentin sat down with it, trying to ignore the heavy feeling of the small book. Clearly his future self hadn’t wanted Margo to know he had this book. It had been hidden expertly behind taller books. If they hadn’t been slightly forward, if he hadn’t tried to straighten the book case by pushing them back, he never would have found it at all. Nervously, he flipped through the pages. A note fell out. 

His handwriting was neater here, less harried. “I hope you’ve made it farther than I did. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and we’ve got to kill Hitler.” 

Quentin sighed in frustration as he flipped it over. That was it. There wasn’t anything else. Kill Hitler? “What the fuck?” he muttered out loud. While it wasn’t exactly a proposal he’d say no to, what did that have to do with anything? The Beast was the problem, not Hitler. Then again, maybe it was the perfect idea. The war was what brought them to Plover, wasn’t it? Maybe if there was no war, he’d never get his hands on them… This was a plan, at least. He went toward the bedroom to see if Margo was awake but she’d already fallen asleep. Quentin was too excited, though. If he could stop the Beast by also stopping the Holocaust, then this was probably the best plan he could ever come up with. 

The only trouble was there would be no Fillory books. What would happen to Quentin without them? They’d saved his life as a kid… Well, there would hopefully be other books. Besides, if he could save millions of lives… wasn’t it worth his own? He settled into the couch, thinking about it all and tried not to feel overwhelmed. 

He woke sitting but slumped over the armrest of the couch in the shithole with Eliot’s head in his lap. Quentin probably shouldn’t remember the reality where he got high and passed out, but this Eliot had been hard to forget. It was just the two of them, _forever killing the pain._ Quentin hadn’t been attracted to him the first time and he wasn’t this time either exactly, but he still couldn’t stop himself from gently running his fingers through Eliot’s hair. It was long, unstyled, and needed a wash but Quentin didn’t care. He could still feel the loss of him from Margo, and he wasn’t going to stop just because of a little oil in his hair. In whatever way, Quentin loved Eliot and this one needed him more than any of them. 

Eliot stirred groggily before turning onto his back to look up at Quentin. Keeping up the steady and gentle toying with his hair, Quentin gave him a small smile. “Hey.” 

Eliot’s lips stretched into a grin and then the rest of him stretched, back arching almost seductively off the couch. It wasn’t Quentin projecting. Eliot was actually trying to do it. He caught Quentin’s hand and kissed it before sucking a finger into his mouth. Quentin was too shocked to say anything. Was Eliot too high or hung over to remember what had happened the day before? 

Like a cat showered in catnip, Eliot was off the couch and on him. His face was in Quentin’s neck, and it would be easier to say where his hands _weren’t_ than to try to list all the places they were. Something about Eliot was unhinged and Quentin didn’t have the chance to try to fix him before he was reflexively shoving him off. Eliot landed on the floor with a painful sounding thud, but it was overpowered by the panic superseding the air in Quentin’s chest and the pounding of his own heart in his head. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Eliot asked. Quentin held up his hands to try to stop him from getting any closer. 

“I wasn’t r-ready-“ he stammered, feeling moisture start to well in his eyes. He didn’t know how else to explain. The shock of having someone suddenly all over him, trapping him against the furniture, touching him places without asking was too much. 

“Okay, so we’ll go slower…” Eliot replied with a smile that might have been seductive if it reached his eyes, and if Quentin wasn’t having a panic attack. Quentin actually started to sob as Eliot slid a hand up his thigh. Finally, the other man realized something was wrong and backed off. “Q?” 

Gasping in air, Quentin struggled to get a hold of himself. “I’m not your Quentin, remember?” Eliot just stared at him with those dead eyes, his mouth slightly ajar as if he wanted to help and didn’t know how. How could he? He didn’t know what was wrong. “Just don’t touch me. Don’t.” 

Eliot walked away then and Quentin felt worse. This was a broken Eliot that needed putting back together and he’d probably just broken something else in him. Dropping his face into his hands, Quentin tried to breathe. He had to fix this, and to fix it he had to calm down. He just focused on his breathing. Slow breaths made it worse, so he just let himself take rapid shallow ones until he heard Eliot clear his throat. Quentin looked up and saw a pill and a cup of water being offered to him. He didn’t care what it was. He took it eagerly. He trusted Eliot even if his body didn’t right now. Besides, if anyone knew drugs it would be the man offering him this little white pill. 

A few minutes after he’d taken it, breathing got easier and his muscles relaxed. He was still in control, but he was calm. “Better?” Eliot asked as he sat on the other end of the couch. 

Quentin nodded and swallowed thickly. “Sorry, I… you surprised me and I wasn’t… wasn’t expecting that. It’s a cycle. I’ve seen it all and been through… it all. I don’t like feeling trapped.” 

He’d almost told Eliot about prison, but it was still too raw to say out loud. Whatever pill Eliot had given him had done the trick. He looked at the brunet and tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, so he let his hand reach instead. He grabbed Eliot’s and tugged him to come closer until they were next to each other again. “There’s a plan now. I have a plan that none of the other Quentins had and I’m going to fix this.” He wrapped Eliot in a hug and pulled him close. There was no fight, but it didn’t feel like Eliot really cared about the embrace. He let it happen without returning it. “I know everything seems like shit and we’re both probably walking open wounds, but I’m not going to let it happen. I won’t let anyone die. I won’t let you kill yourself. I haven’t lived through this much to fuck it up.” 

Quentin smiled a little as he felt Eliot’s arm snake across his middle. Maybe Eliot didn’t believe him, but at least he was pretending. 


	13. Chapter 13

It was always a shock to wake up in a difficult future after a nice one- especially because the nice ones were so few and far between that Quentin dove into them as deep as he could. It was the only respite he got. While having a panic attack and needing Eliot to essentially drug him wasn’t exactly a good time, he enjoyed being with the older man. Sitting with him had been peaceful. Waking up and trying to walk to the bathroom before falling on his face and remembering he only had one and a half legs in this reality was decidedly less pleasant. 

“Q?" 

It was Julia. She hadn’t been here before… Quentin reached for the crutch leaning against the side table and used it to help himself up before slipping his arm into it. “Forgot,” he mumbled self-consciously. 

She lifted her head a bit. “I just got in a couple hours ago, but there’s doughnuts on the counter… I ate all the sprinkles ones, sorry.” 

He laughed a little, unsure what to make of this. Julia hadn’t been in this reality yesterday. He’d been alone. Granted, he mostly just ate a sandwich and went back to bed because moving was more effort than he felt like putting forth, but he probably should have noticed something… right? 

There was definitely a bakery box on the counter once he got out there and Julia had been wrong about the sprinkles. Or teasing him. He wasn’t sure which, and he didn’t care as he wolfed down a sprinkle-coated pastry. He was hungry after eating nothing but a sandwich the day before. It hadn’t even been a good sandwich because he hated trying to navigate the kitchen on a crutch. It wasn’t hard. Actually, it was easier than it should have been. If the kitchen hadn’t been designed for his particular situation, it had certainly been chosen for it. The opposite counter was in reach of the fridge and there was only a small section between it and the stove, presumably so he could unload everything he needed without having to go back and forth. In fact, he could probably do without the crutch and just use the counters if he wanted. He didn’t. 

Julia gave him a funny look when she walked in a few minutes later. Apparently she didn’t approve of him eating at the counter like a desperate grad student. She spooned some coffee grounds into one of those reusable K-cups and started a cup of coffee before grabbing the box from him and taking it to the table. “It’s been a while since you’ve had one of those dreams,” she said carefully and he wondered what she meant by that. Might as well ask. 

“Which dreams?” 

“The ones where you forget about the crutch. There was that one a couple years ago, but it was kind of a one-off. Everything okay?” Okay, so she hadn’t mentioned it earlier because she thought it was a Conversation. That’s why they were now in the kitchen, both fully awake. That’s why she was making coffee and coaxing him toward the table.

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed in a tight voice. He was an awful liar, but some part of him didn’t want to tell her and he wasn’t sure why. He grabbed two plates from the cabinet (mentally cheering that he remembered which one since this was the only reality with this specific house) and moved awkwardly with them to the table. She eyed him with that same worried look. 

“How’s your head?” 

“Good?” He set the plates down, looking even more confused. Was he doing something wrong? 

“You’re not acting like yourself, Q. I’m a little worried.” 

“How so?” he asked, stalling for time. 

“Well, for one, you usually plate something, set it on the counter, then walk around and grab it so you’re not carrying shit while in motion.” 

“It’s not like it’s hard.” 

She gave him a serious look and he got the feeling he was missing something. Was it hard? Or was it supposed to be? He was trying to assume he was one of those inspiration porn guys who skateboards terrifying ramps and leaps over hurdles on a track. Then again, he couldn’t do that with two legs and he wasn’t exactly ripped in this reality. “Alright, fine,” he sighed and explained between bites of the last sprinkle doughnut. 

Her face remained stony as she listened and she said nothing for at least a minute after before she stood, saying something like, “I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that conference, I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone…” and grabbing her phone. She looked stressed as she listened to it ring. “Yes, Dr. Starveling, please.” 

Quentin groaned. “Julia, I’m not crazy, okay? This is real. I’m from the past.” 

“Q, clearly your brain is on the fritz, okay? The fact that your memories go back to that spell don’t mean you just cast it, okay?” Her coffee finished and she ignored it completely.

“So you don’t want to hear about my memories of other realities because the Julia I grew up with would love to hear that kind of magic shit.” 

She was about to say something when someone picked up the phone. “Uh-“ she pointed threateningly at Quentin. “We’re still getting you checked out.” 

Sighing, Quentin listened to her make an emergency appointment as she finally started fixing her coffee by pouring it into a travel mug. Well, it wasn’t like she was the first partner in the future who’d insisted on making sure he hadn’t hit his head. Hell, he’d probably react the same way if someone he cared about started saying they were from the past. Finally, she hung up the phone and disappeared into the bedroom to return with a set of awkwardly hemmed pants. “So are we dating or something because I would’ve noticed a ring yesterday when I first woke up here…”

“Shit, this happened yesterday?” she said. Quentin recognized this Julia. This was the Julia that wanted him to pick something, to go through with his plan to sell off his Fillory books, to go to Yale and get a real job…

“Julia, it’s been September 8th every time I’ve woken up. Now it’s September 9th. I’m going through them all, in order, one day at a time. I know you think I fell and hit my head, but actually… yesterday I was a bit slower when I woke up and realized I was missing some parts before I got up, so there was actually no falling or head hitting.” 

“Humor me, okay?” she said as she took his crutch and thrust a shirt at him before putting a sock on his foot. He was tempted to make a joke about having half the sock and shoe budget, but contained himself. 

Obediently, he changed into the fresh shirt and let her help him to his feet so he could get his pants off. “I’m pretty sure I could do this myself, you know.” 

“Yeah, but I’m not taking any chances right now.” 

His face turned dark red as she unabashedly saw him just about naked from the waist down. She looked so routine about it and seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t used to a Julia that had this kind of relationship with him. He also hadn’t seen the leg naked yet and a sort of nervous curiosity clung to him over it. It was odd, sure, but not gruesome or in any way remarkable. Quentin was too used to it going on longer and ending in a foot. There were a few scars on the leg, but he had scars everywhere. Well, not everywhere. This wasn’t the mental hospital. He had a decent number, anyway. There was one on his stomach that looked like it could have been fatal, but he elected to ignore it once again. 

“So I sort of skipped this one last time around because… Well, I just did. So I don’t really know… what’s going on? Can you just give me the spark notes on who’s alive and what went down with the Beast? I already know it’s Martin, not- not Plover. Someone spilled the beans on that one accidentally…”

She finally looked up at him and _saw_ him. Helping him sit, she focused on the fresh pants she apparently didn’t trust him to put on himself as she spoke. “It’s just us. I wasn’t there, at the, uh. At the confrontation. Everyone except you died, including Martin. You barely made it yourself… It was bad, Q. We were both really bad for a long time.” 

“So… are we dating?” he asked again. 

She patted his knee. “It’s complicated. Sort of. Our relationship isn’t really… It’s complicated.” 

“Okay,” Quentin nodded. He wondered if this was because of his leg or if this Julia shared the same thing Fillory Julia shared with him. He surveyed her as she tied on a shoe and tried to decide if he should mention it. Ultimately, he landed on no. She didn’t seem distressed, just unwilling to give him details, so she might not be perturbed by the discussion. Quentin would be. This was only the eighth day after it had happened and he wasn’t ready to talk about it or even say certain words. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. 

The thoughts darkened his mood and he didn’t feel much like talking after that. Neither did Julia, it seemed. There were the necessary things like “I’ll hold the crutch,” and “Stop tapping your foot,” but mostly they went in silence. Julia seemed afraid to tell him too much about the future, or afraid that he was actually crazy until they finally saw the doctor and he said, “Nothing looks out of place. Nothing that could cause memory loss or hallucinations. If there’s a problem, I can refer you to a mental health specialist.” 

“Go ahead and give us the information,” Julia agreed, but Quentin was pretty sure she was convinced now that there were no physical causes. And it had only taken half an hour of him lying in an MRI machine, trying to breathe without moving. Now at least he was fairly certain her silence was for fear of a butterfly effect. She confirmed as much on the drive home and refused to answer even basic questions. Quentin didn’t understand. What harm could it do that hadn’t already been done by dozens of other realities telling him everything? Or close enough to it? 

She helped him change into pajamas and he got so irritated with the coddling that he shoved her hands away, determined to do it himself. “I have two arms. I can dress my fucking self,” he bit out angrily. He was asking for help, but not that kind. Was this some kind of guilt for denying him the assistance he was asking for? 

Once he was dressed, they were both lying awake in bed and Quentin was glaring at the ceiling. Julia was the one to break the silence. “If you took me with you to face the Beast, it would have turned out differently. I know it would have. Others might have survived besides you,” she finally said. “The Beast would have too. I know because I was planning to use him. I wanted his power to solve a problem that I couldn’t fix. I wasn’t being rational and I knew it and I begged you not to take me… thankfully you listened. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if I’d been stupid enough to save him from all of you. We may have never gotten another chance to kill him.” 

“Oh, we would have,” Quentin assured her. “I’ve been to a future where he’s still alive and we’re all running from him. We’re not even trying to stop him, but he’s still chasing us. It’s clear that when I get back… it’s kill or be killed. For all of us.” 

She fumbled in the darkness for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’ll get back,” she promised. “I’m apologizing now for how little I’ll be able to help you. I was a mess and you were better off with me not around.” 

“I don’t care how messy you are,” Quentin promised. “I’m always better when you’re around. Unless we’re fighting. I’m ugly when we’re fighting.” 

He could hear the swish of fabric as she shook her head. “Not this time, Q. I ran from you, and you need to let me. For both of us.” 

“You told me in another future that, um. That you were… That there was a spell and it went wrong and something happened to you. And it was something that happened to me. In the future. So I… At least I think I know the kind of mess you might’ve been.” 

She didn’t say anything and part of him was grateful, but the other part wondered if she understood what he meant. Julia was too strong for her own good. She’d always given things up to pay for whatever she viewed as success. She’d given up Fillory and magic for her Ivy League Future. Then, when she learned magic was real, she’d given up literally everything for that. It didn’t surprise him at all that she wanted to give up her own comfort to do what she viewed as supporting her friend. “I’m just saying, I don’t always need you to be strong. You don’t have to sacrifice for me, Jules.” 

“I know, Q. That’s why I want to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter because it really didn't want to be written. (Also that just felt like the end.) I'd be lying if I tried to tell you that I don't have favorite futures, and it's really hard for me to create new ones that we haven't seen because that's just one more barrier between me and the next day of the ones I want to be writing. I do like this future and I'm like 80% sure I'll come back to it "tomorrow" but wow it was a struggle to write this chapter. (Telling you this after you read it so my struggle does not color it for you lol.)
> 
> Also the troll in me keeps saying "It's not too late to decide the real world is the hospital and the curse from 104 was just his brain trying to convince him the real world is fake, and this dubiously plotted probability spell is just another way for his brain to confuse him about reality." But I won't do that because I have a plot. I have one. And I only like that "they're actually institutionalized and the story is their delusion" trope as brief posts designed to give feels and not so much as a canon twist at the end which basically undermines the entire story I got attached to.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates two days in a row. Someone get some water because I'm ON FIRE.
> 
> Side note: it's really convenient to be the kind of writer that does things that make no sense out of convenience because then when you do something that makes no sense people sometimes assume it's for convenience and not plot. Does that apply to this chapter? Am I implying that i did a lazy writer thing or a smart writer thing? Am I just a troll? Yes, but to which one? Just one? Who knows? (I do.)(Definitely yes to the troll part.)

The day Quentin had been dreading had arrived. As each version of September 9th passed, he grew a little steadier, a little more okay, but now it felt like nothing had changed and he was in crisis. This was the reality where Penny was catatonic and had to be spoon fed. That in itself was disturbing, but what had Quentin on edge was the fact that this was the day before the reality where it happened. If he woke up there on the ninth, he’d be in prison and he’d have to live through it all over again. He’d know when Penny was coming to save him, sure, but knowing the end was coming didn’t make the middle any more bearable. At least he didn’t think it would. 

Well, no. It was possible he’d wake up on the run with everyone alive, but Quentin was pretty sure he’d died in that reality. It didn’t matter because he was either one or two sleeps away from waking up in a nightmare and the thought was making him feel so shaky he had to sit. 

Quentin was in a hospital in this one, but he was allowed to roam the halls for exercise. At least this Quentin wasn’t considered a danger to himself or others. Still, when he’d seen Penny in this room, he’d stopped in. It was just as disturbing as it had been before to see Penny’s face blank and his eyes dead. He almost looked like a different person without that slight furrow to his brow. There was no one to ask about the past here besides Penny, and he was in no shape to answer. Quentin could have asked the nurse who brought him his pills and food if anyone was visiting or if he could ask anyone to visit, but he didn’t want to risk them thinking he had to be locked up. Staying in a normal hospital room was nice. 

Quentin had been staring at Penny’s lifeless expression until his eyes glazed over when a nurse entered. “Quentin?” 

No, not a nurse. He stared, slack-jawed at Alice. She didn’t seem to know what to say either. “You’re alive,” Quentin said and knew immediately it was a mistake. She gave him a funny look and properly entered the room, her hand slipping effortlessly into Penny’s. Oh. _Oh._

“What are you doing here? You’re dressed like a patient.” 

“I am a patient,” Quentin confirmed. This hospital wasn’t full of caricatures and stereotypes of mental illness, so he knew it was real. He trusted the doctors here and took his meds even though they made him dizzy and nauseated sometimes. Most of the time. He had one of those old person walkers with the bench on it so he could sit when he needed to. He was sitting in it now. “I saw Penny, and I just…”

She nodded, and he could see the sadness she was fighting off. “He was never the same after the Beast, you know. Well, you don’t. I don’t blame you, though. I know why you drifted away and I get it. Anyway, they can’t find a medical reason for this, so I just assumed… magic. There’s a doctor here who’s also a Magician, but I’m sure you knew that.” Quentin nodded even though he didn’t. “Well, she’s looking at some less mundane causes for… this. I’m glad you’re here though, Quentin. It never felt right with you gone. Even if we parted on bad terms, it’s like you said… You don’t just stop caring about someone.” 

“No, you don’t.” It was easy enough to guess what had happened. Penny and Alice had coupled off and Quentin had been too broken hearted to deal with it so he retreated, maybe even checked himself in. 

“He didn’t stop caring about you either, so I’m glad you’re here. Even if he probably doesn’t know it.” 

Quentin debated about telling her and decided not to. At least not now. The moment was unbelievably wrong and he was tired of dealing with people dealing with him. At least this felt real, even if he was guessing to keep up. “This place is good. If anyone can help him, they can.” Quentin wasn’t sure how good this place was, but in the day and a half he’d been there it had seemed decent. 

Alice smiled at him, fondly but with a hint of sadness. “You haven’t changed a bit. You’re exactly like I remember you.” 

Well, she wasn’t entirely wrong, though he was probably closing in on two years’ worth of future living. Then again, she’d probably still been around him after he woke up. They might not have drifted apart until later. He wondered how messed up he’d been in this reality. “You too,” he said, but it wasn’t entirely true. She seemed older or maybe just sadder. That wasn’t the kind of thing you told someone though. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. Maybe we can fix it now though.” 

She smiled and nodded. “That would be nice.” 

The nurse came in with the goo that was supposed to be food and Alice took it from her as if it were the most normal thing in the world. The nurse seemed put off, but she let it go when Alice began to expertly feed the catatonic man in the bed. Quentin had to look away. Somehow it was even worse watching the practiced way Alice did this than a nurse. How long had Penny been like this that Alice seemed so unfazed? 

Just to try to forget, Quentin began to all but scream that Taylor Swift song in his head. It was the one that Penny hated, and the one that had called him to Quentin when he was trapped in his own mind. He had no illusions that it could do the same now, but at least it felt like something and took his mind away from the painful sight of a Penny with no spark left in him. 

“Short hair looks good on you,” she commented as she worked. 

“Easier to take care of,” he shrugged. Truthfully, he hated it. He liked to hide behind his hair a bit and the occasional breeze on the back of his neck set his nerves on edge. Awkward silence filled the room once again, and the song kept playing in Quentin’s head, but lower and more in the background now. “What do you know about September 15?” he asked just to break the silence. 

She shook her head. “Nothing, is it important? I mean, I’m pretty sure one of our presidents was born that day.” 

“Taft,” Quentin confirmed. “I mean the one that’s coming up in a few days.” 

“Are we making plans?” 

“I don’t know,” he replied. Now he was going to have to tell her because she was giving him that look that said she was doubting his sanity. “Someone was just talking about it like it was important,” he offered instead. 

For some reason she accepted that answer. “No, I haven’t heard about anything happening. I’ve been sort of busy, though.” She shrugged and gestured at Penny and Quentin nodded uncomfortably. Alice as caretaker made complete sense at the same time as it made zero. She was so brilliant and independent, but the time he’d met her parents had given Quentin the impression that she’d been the adult growing up. She was definitely the adult now. He felt small and juvenile in her shadow. “Are you okay, Quentin? I mean, you’re in a hospital so that’s probably a silly question, but… you’re okay?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “My brain’s never been that healthy. I was in and out of hospitals before Brakebills, so it shouldn’t surprise anyone to see me back in one. I feel pretty good though, really even. Wish the meds they gave me didn’t have such shitty side effects, though.” 

She nodded. “I guess if there were better ones, they’d give them to you.” 

“Yeah, I’m hoping,” Quentin chuckled. “Otherwise all this vomiting’s been for no reason.” 

The sad smile never seemed to leave this Alice’s face. Quentin tried to steer the conversation toward the past, but it never seemed to work out. Maybe Alice knew what he was doing. Maybe she even suspected he was hiding something. At least it took some of his focus away from the gnawing anxiety about where he was going to wake up tomorrow. 

Visiting hours ended too quickly and he had to make his way back to his own room while she headed in the opposite direction. Quentin was pretty sure he didn’t qualify as a visitor and Penny wouldn’t have been bothered by his continuing presence, but he did as the nurses asked and left. There was some cold fake turkey and rubbery peas waiting for him and he couldn’t bring himself to eat more than the Jell-O cup. Hopefully that would digest with the medicine before he had a chance to toss it back up. Besides, cold processed turkey wasn’t his idea of a good time even if he only had to taste it once. Quentin curled up in the bed and tried to sleep. 

Hospital beds were awful. Somehow they managed to be uncomfortably confining while making him feel totally exposed and vulnerable. His anxiety amplified threefold and it was almost dawn by the time he finally fell asleep. He woke covered in people. So they were on the run, then. They were on the run, he was badly injured, and someone thought it was a good idea to rest their head on his shoulder… which oddly didn’t hurt. 

Quentin opened his eyes. This wasn’t some dirty cave, or even prison. He was in a bed, and the three people cuddled around him were Eliot, Margo, and Julia. Quentin’s throat tightened and a few tears escaped his eyes as relief and gratitude swarmed through him. Julia lifted her head, the first to notice that he was awake. “Still here?” she said with a kind smile. 

“Still me,” he confirmed, though he knew she was asking a different question. Margo and Eliot stirred and Quentin decided not to tell them it hadn’t worked. He wanted them to feel like they were helping because they were, and telling them it hadn’t worked might ruin that. Eliot placed a sleepy kiss to Quentin’s chest before letting his head return to its human pillow and Quentin wasn’t about to make any of them move. It was about one degree too warm, but he didn’t care. He loved all of them for what they’d tried to do and the obscene amount of cuddling that was going on was definitely one of the better feelings he’d gotten to experience in the future. He closed his eyes and enjoyed it, making sure to keep himself awake. He wasn’t ready to move on yet, even if he knew the next reality was just as good as this one. 

After a while, they finally started to get up as physical needs grew too powerful to ignore. Quentin felt warm and happy in a way that he hadn’t in a long time. Even if he hadn’t gotten to wake up here two days in a row, the peace he felt waking up here instead of in prison or a cave was just as good. “So, I can’t find anything too relevant about the fifteenth,” Julia told him from behind a cup of coffee and a computer. “Mostly celebrity birthdays and wars and signing agreements… What the fuck is a milch goat? Well, the first show of those happened. Uh… someone tried to kill Mussolini and failed, so that’s kind of cool, but really irrelevant…”

“No, we’re supposed to kill Hitler, not Mussolini.” 

Julia looked up at him sharply. “What?” 

“Hitler. We’re supposed to kill him. I guess so that the Chatwins are never sent to live near Plover and then Martin doesn’t feel the need to become the Beast…?”

“You couldn’t have told us this yesterday?” Julia demanded. 

Quentin felt his cheeks heat up as he realized no, he couldn’t, and there was no way to explain that without also revealing their spell had failed. “Quentin?” Eliot pressed gently. 

“Alright, fine. It didn’t work, but it doesn’t matter because I didn’t have to go to the future that really messed me up or repeat any of it, so it’s fine. I actually feel really good now, here, and I don’t want any of you worrying about me, okay? I left myself a note, in a book, and it said we’ve got to kill Hitler. So is there anything about Hitler on the fifteenth?” 

Julia skimmed and shook her head. “I mean, the Nuremburg Laws went into effect which made the swastika the official symbol and stripped Jews of German citizenship, but that’s in ’38, so about four years before we’d be able to get there… unless we wanted to be old people by the time ’38 rolled around.” 

“What do you mean ‘before we’d be able to get there’?” Quentin asked. 

“Shit, right,” Julia nodded. “I keep forgetting you don’t know about the time travel. There were these Brakebills students who decided to kill Hitler for their senior thesis, so we used their pre-made time travel stuff and journeyed back to a date where we could follow Jane Chatwin through a door to Fillory. Time travel is basically impossible, so using pre-set destinations is pretty much the only sane way to go about it.” 

“Well, I never thought I’d say this, but thank-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Julia interrupted him. “Still bad.” 

Quentin got the idea he was missing something, but he didn’t push. “So obviously the students failed.” 

“Yeah, because Hitler was a really powerful fucking Magician. There’s no way we’re going to be able to kill him, Q.” 

“What if we help them? We can go back and find them and…”

Margo plopped down at the table with them and gave Quentin an unamused look. “Quentin, I’m pretty sure even you are not stupid enough to think a plan like ‘Kill Hitler’ is the answer here. I mean, it’d be great to avoid the Holocaust, but I’m pretty sure something that big will fuck time so hard it won’t be able to get back up again.” 

Quentin felt a little sick at the comparison and Eliot gently elbowed Margo. “What?” she interjected. “You know it’s true!” 

“Maybe less graphic next time?” Eliot suggested. 

“It’s fine,” Quentin interrupted, but he was still grateful for the thought. “You’re probably right, but… at least one future version of me seemed to think it was the only way.” 

“Well, then at least one version of you is a fucking moron,” Margo rolled her eyes. “I mean it! Come on, Q, I know you have a hero complex, but that’s grandeur even for you.” 

“Alright, I get it.” 

Julia shut her laptop. “I think it’s safe to assume that whatever the fifteenth is, it hasn’t happened yet. If we’re supposed to dick around in the past, we haven’t done it in any of the realities Quentin’s speeding through or he’d probably just tell himself.” 

“This coffee is not Irish enough for this conversation anymore,” Eliot interrupted before getting a bottle from the fridge and adding a splash to his cup before offering it wordlessly to everyone else. They continued to talk while he did it, arguing about how badly time would get screwed up if they stopped something that affected as much of history and the world as Hitler had. 

“The way I see it,” Eliot interrupted, “is there are always going to be Hitlers in some form or another and probably nowhere nearly as bad or far-reaching as he was, but maybe that’s because he’s there as our warning.” 

“You did not just distill the Holocaust into a convenient fable,” Julia replied instantly. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Eliot snapped back. “I’m just saying… maybe we kill Hitler and someone else takes his place. This is too big a risk. What if there’s something worse out there? What if Martin was just born evil and was going to become a terrifying insect-laden super-villain no matter what?” 

“Then at least we saved a few million people by stopping the Holocaust?” Quentin offered.

Julia sighed. “Look, we don’t have to say no, but let’s see if we can find a different plan first? One that doesn’t involve throwing decades of history affecting multiple countries into complete uncertainty?” 

“Fine,” Quentin agreed testily. Predictably, they didn’t come up with much, though Margo had no problem suggesting they just kill Martin Chatwin. Quentin had no problem pointing out that grief could do bad things to his siblings and they had no way of knowing one of them wouldn’t take Martin’s place. 

Overall, the day was exhausting and full of a lot more conflict than Quentin thought was strictly necessary. He was more relieved than words could describe to fall asleep with the three of them at the end of the day. Waking up in Fillory wasn’t bad either.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord, y'all. It has been so long since i have updated this that i forgot everything but the endgame and rules. Well, not everything. But i forgot a few exits and turns. I know the major highways i need, though. It'll be fine. Don't worry. Er.

Quentin’s head was pounding and he gazed blearily at the greyish walls of the mental hospital. He ran his hand over his stomach- still scarred heavily. Just being in the small, sightless room made him feel caged and unstable. The remnants of drugs in his system weren’t helping. He vaguely remembered being shot up with something after he’d woken screaming from a vision of the Beast. Or had that been reality? He was so confused. 

Just in case, he started humming Taylor Swift to himself. 

Sitting up was a mistake. The pounding in his head grew louder and heavier, but he was determined to get a good look at the scarring to better memorize it. For a month or two, he’d pictured the markings to himself every day but he’d gotten lax about it as time and reality passed. Some of the shapes weren’t exactly how he remembered them, and some he knew for a fact he’d remembered wrongly. A couple he didn’t recognize at all. In fact… were there more? 

Quentin stood up to try the door. At least, he tried to stand up. His legs were uncooperative and virtually useless. That was something he’d forgotten about this one. Quentin growled to himself. He wanted a shower or at least to splash water on his face, but there was no plumbing in this room (which he still wasn’t convinced hadn’t been a closet) and he was trapped. “Hello?” he called tiredly. Speaking compounded the throbbing in his head. “Can I please use the bathroom?” 

No one answered and Quentin looked around the room as if it might make a toilet appear. It felt like every need he had was in crisis and he was locked in a room. He took slow breaths and tried not to be tense. His wrists were raw from being cuffed in this reality and it was reminding him a little too much of prison… and the things that went with prison. His mouth tasted like garbage smells and his face felt like garbage looks. Quentin briefly entertained the notion that maybe he was just a sentient pile of garbage before his attention was drawn to the door. 

There were keys jangling and turning in the lock and Quentin wondered two very important things: what was the point in locking him up when he could barely walk and was it a fire hazard to lock him in a room (closet) without a key? The door opened to reveal a nurse he didn’t know who helped him into the chair without even speaking to him. “Um, where are we going and should that door be locked? What if there’s a fire?” 

She didn’t say anything and began to wheel him down the hall. Quentin’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. He’d gone from trapped in a room (closet) to being kidnapped by Nurse Ratchet. “You come here often?” he asked nervously, but she only sighed and pushed him into a restroom. He looked at the toilet dubiously and then expelled a shocked, “Oh-“ when she began to lift him to a standing position in front of it and turned her head. 

Quentin felt his face turn dark red and he grappled with himself before finally saying, “Yeah, I am not gonna be able to do anything with a witness.” 

She sighed again and made no move to release him so he just stood there blushing in humiliation and wondered how long this standoff could go on. “Look, I’m not even going to try, so can you just… I know I’m in a mental hospital, but I’m not-“

Another put upon sigh grated his nerves as she deposited him back in the chair less than gently and wheeled him to the main area. Chairs were set up and a few patients were already there. Josh lit up a little when he saw Quentin and moved to sit next to Quentin before Nurse Ratchet glared him into changing his mind. Josh ducked his head in fear and Quentin wondered if he’d gotten lucky “yesterday” with a kind nurse. Using words to actually speak to him seemed too basic to label kind, but he would anyway. The other patients included a sullen-looking boy who had slid down the chair to stare at his hands and a girl who was slouched forward, picking at her sleeves absently. She glanced up as the nurse left and Quentin recognized her. “I know you.” 

She immediately looked back down, like she was scared. “My mistake,” Quentin mumbled. 

A few more patients joined them and Quentin couldn’t help but think most of them looked vaguely familiar, like people he’d seen at Brakebills. His heart clenched painfully when he saw the last patient: Penny, catatonic and looking even worse than Quentin in his chair. Nurse Ratchet left him turned slightly crooked next to Quentin. As soon as she was gone, he tried to turn Penny’s chair into the circle even though Quentin didn’t think he’d notice. Even if he were paying attention, Penny probably still wouldn’t care. Quentin smiled a little to himself at the thought of Penny sitting through what looked like it was going to be some kind of group therapy session. 

Finally, the nurse from Brakebills (whose name Quentin still couldn’t remember) joined them and smiled warmly, welcoming them all to group, inviting people to talk. She would interrupt occasionally to remind people that they couldn’t know what others were thinking and that they couldn’t change other people or their behaviors. 

What if this was real life? It felt real. Everyone seemed so real. He stared at the girl who’d been afraid of his recognition. She was the one who’d refused to introduce herself, who was there before he went to prison. He shuddered slightly at the memory and rubbed his side. It had been a while since he’d felt the phantom wound of the shiv and he looked away and swallowed hard. 

“Did you want to add something, Quentin?” 

He looked up sharply, his heart racing. How had that looked like he wanted to say something? He wanted to sink into the Earth and disappear forever. “You reacted to what Todd was saying. Do you have something to add?” 

“No.” 

He wanted to be left alone. 

“You don’t have any feelings on alcohol?” 

Had they been talking about alcohol? Quentin started silently humming Taylor Swift in his head. He needed to get out of here. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I know that’s super rude, but I just have no focus. No one asked me if I wanted to be here.” 

“Is there some place you’d rather be?” 

Quentin shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, not here, not in the center of attention?” 

“Well, how about you divert the attention? Ask us a question. Maybe give us a little insight as to what’s drawing your focus.” 

Quentin bristled. This was shitty. What kind of self-respecting therapist would force someone to talk in a group? He fought with himself for a moment before deciding he had to give up something or she was going to keep grilling him. “Sometimes I get these, um, these pain memories. Well, just one. In my side.” 

“What is it from?” 

“Should you be asking me that in group?” 

“You don’t have to answer.” 

He wanted to argue that he obviously had to answer because she wasn’t going to leave him alone. “It’s from scratches I got from a shitty knife owned by a shitty person. Can someone else talk now because I really don’t want to.” 

“Okay. Well, sometimes opening up can help, even if only to find out you’re not alone.” 

“Okay, I get that, but apparently I was basically comatose before yesterday, so maybe we can back off me for a while?” 

“Sometimes we experience emotional symptoms in physical ways. Bottling up emotions can produce disastrous results. We won’t make you talk if you don’t want to, Quentin, but you should.” 

“Yeah, well.” He deflated as he realized he didn’t know the ending to his sentence. Thankfully, she moved on and someone else started talking. He didn’t listen. He was angry now and resentful of the whole proceeding. His skin was crawling and he felt sick. Quentin just wanted to go back to his room (closet). By the time Nurse Ratchet wheeled him back to that bathroom, he was too tired to fight and awkwardly relieved himself. Quentin thought he had been rock bottom low many times, but somehow he seemed to be at a new one. She deposited him mechanically into his bed and locked him in. 

Quentin flexed his legs, lifting them from the bed and holding them as long as he could stand. Shouldn’t they be giving him some kind of physical therapy? That nurse really didn’t look like she had enough muscle mass to lift him, no matter how thin he was. Quentin kept working his muscles and listing the things about this world that seemed off. It had to be fake. It had to be. This couldn’t be his life. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw on this one for discussion of sexual assault
> 
> I was so excited because i thought i'd updated twice in one week but no it's been two weeks. Sorry i'm so slow, friends. This one's a little longer than my average, so hopefully that makes up for it.

Quentin buried his face in Eliot’s shoulder in a bid not to wake up. Day one was a good reality, but he needed rest so badly. Sometimes he felt used to the constant consciousness, but day one really drove it home that he was doomed to go without rest. “Q?” Eliot mumbled sleepily. 

“Still me,” he confirmed, even more sleepily. 

“You okay?” he asked, pulling away just enough to give Quentin a bleary look. Quentin felt warm and fluffy to witness the way Eliot fought off sleep to assuage his concern. 

Quentin didn’t think it would be entirely accurate to say that he was okay, but he was still going. “I didn’t have to go to the one where it was too dangerous to sleep. I mean, most of them suck, but there are good days. Day one is a good day.” 

“Am I day one?” 

“Yes,” Quentin assured him as he hugged him a little tighter. “You’re day one.” 

Eliot gave him a small, cozy smile and tucked his nose into Quentin’s hair. Eliot drifted back to sleep, but Quentin refused. This would be the closest thing he could get to sleep and he unabashedly took every opportunity with every partner who would let him. Quentin was in the perfect position relative to Eliot. His entire body was humming with happiness even if his mind wasn’t. The past few days had sidetracked him. The mental hospital had side tracked him. The people there were focused on erasing Brakebills, erasing his mission, erasing everyone he was trying to save and for a moment it had worked. He’d forgotten everything but his own shame and the trapped feeling. 

Quentin closed his eyes but kept his mind busy with the mission, reviewing the facts and remembering how few they were. September 15, noon, Brakebills time. Kill Hitler. That was it. 

Eliot stirred a little and, without thinking, Quentin shifted to kiss him softly. It seemed to reassure whatever was drawing him from his sleep and so the time traveler was left alone to worry about how natural it had felt to kiss his friend. Part of him wanted to do it again. He let his eyes trace Eliot’s face longingly, memorizing it even though it was already imprinted in his mind. Quentin felt what his future selves felt to some extent. He needed to remember that. How much of it would stay with him when he got back to his own timeline? 

In spite of his efforts, Quentin fell asleep before Eliot woke up again and found himself in the suburbia living room with Margo yelling at him. “So, I didn’t do it. I’m still… not your Quentin?” he asked her uncertainly, even though it probably should have been a statement. 

He looked around and felt even more confused. Shouldn’t he have woken up in the shithole? He’d been working on remembering the scars specifically so he could talk to the Brakebills professor in that reality about them. “We agreed! No more Fillory books!” she insisted. 

Finding out that he still wasn’t her Quentin only seemed to make it worse. She started yelling at him about how he wasn’t allowed to take her Quentin away and that “noble sacrifice” was pointless and how dare he? Quentin didn’t entirely understand what was happening, only that Margo was upset and it hurt him to his core. He wrapped her in his arms because he had no idea what to say to make it better and eventually they fell asleep. He slogged through familiar days full of bleakness, making sure to leave the most accurate depictions of the scars and spellwork in each of them, receiving little to no updates from the previous day. It was incredibly frustrating to leave somewhere for what had to be a year and only have twenty-four hours pass. Then again, maybe he should be grateful. The amount of time and help he was getting was over three hundred what it should be. “Three hundred twenty-five,” he mumbled sleepily into a scent he now recognized as Margo. 

“What?” she asked groggily. 

“Q?” It was Julia. She slipped an arm around his waist and he shut his eyes in relief. This was the cuddle puddle. Quentin lifted his head groggily and wondered for a moment where Eliot was. 

“Three hundred and twenty-five. Is the day this is. I think. I might have lost count, and there are a few that I skipped. But I tried to remember them all.” 

Margo groaned and rolled over so that her back was to him. “Too early.” 

Quentin smiled a little in amusement. He loved them all so much. Part of it was the Quentin whose reality and personality he was inhabiting, but he’d been with each of them for so long by now that he couldn’t help but be deeply in love with all of them. It wasn’t necessarily a sexual love, but the kind that burrowed deep in his gut and wrenched his heart any time he thought of losing one of them. Carefully, he extricated himself and went to use the toilet. He felt awake now, and good. Rested was a word he didn’t think he’d ever be able to feel again, but this Quentin was getting plenty of good food and sleep. This Quentin was definitely one of the easier ones to inhabit. 

Julia and Margo were still asleep and had gravitated into the gap Quentin had left so he headed out to the kitchen where Eliot was sitting at the counter with a coffee, dark circles under his eyes, and several books splayed out on the counter. Q, good, I’ve been looking at some stuff on those symbols you gave us.” 

“Have you been up all night?” he asked, ignoring the question. 

Eliot shrugged. “You know how I love my Irish coffee.” 

“Okay, but sleep is important too. I’m not sure this ride stops, at least not before the fifteenth.” 

“I also thought…” Eliot looked a little uncomfortable and seemed to change his mind. “These are books from the psychics’ house.” 

Quentin couldn’t decide if he wanted to know or not. He knew he should ask about the psychic books and the symbols but he was worried about Eliot. “You look like shit, El.” 

“Okay, do you want to know about-“

“Yeah, but you should really get some sleep. I know we’re saving the world and all, but really you can sleep.” 

“I thought you’d sleep better without me there,” Eliot all but snapped at him. “So can we talk about your symbols or is this going to be a thing?” 

“Why would I-?”

“Q, when you first saw me day before yesterday you lost your shit. You don’t have to tell us anything, but it’s pretty obvious you’re not okay and I don’t want to make things harder than they have to be.” 

Quentin stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly open. He let out a lung full of air so that he was literally deflated and not just figuratively. “So, this is day three hundred twenty-five. Every day that passes here, I’ve lived almost a year since you last saw me. Besides, it’s you. I mean, if I can trust anyone, it’s you and everyone else in this apartment.” 

Eliot stared at him for a moment now. He didn’t say anything and just patted the seat next to him, so Quentin sat with him. The books were on dreams, or more specifically, dream walking. Eliot showed him several symbols he recognized as ones that were carved into his skin and explained that it allowed two people to cross into each other’s dreams so long as they both wore them in the same place. 

That made no sense. 

“I don’t even have dreams, El. I don’t sleep. I just go from one day to the next.” 

“Well, obviously it was there before you were on this extended field trip.” 

Quentin thought for a moment. Could there be someone he was trying to communicate with in that future? Could he have carved all of those symbols into himself? “It doesn’t make any sense. Shit, and I can’t even find out if it’s connected to anyone because I can’t get to that Quentin’s dreams. I just wake up with you. I mean, not you, but… Fuck, never mind.” 

Eliot was giving him an exhausted look. Before the other man could so much as ask for clarification, Quentin put a hand on his knee. “Go to bed.” 

Eliot slumped a little and downed the rest of whatever was in his mug. “I’ll sleep tonight, I promise. Julia and Margo will be up soon and we have plans to talk to some Brakebills connection. I’d ask if you remember, but apparently we made these plans a year ago or something.” 

“Okay, well they’re not up yet and I doubt we’re leaving in the next hour or so, so maybe get a nap or sit this one out, huh?” 

Eliot was staring at Quentin’s jaw and he had no idea what possessed him, but he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eliot’s lips. Quentin immediately felt his cheeks grow warm. “Get some rest. Please.” 

There was a look of awe in Eliot’s gaze that made Quentin distinctly uncomfortable so he looked away in embarrassment as Eliot squeezed his arm and headed back to the bedroom. Quentin turned his attention to the books Eliot had stayed up most of the night reading. He began committing the theory of dream walking to memory just in case he figured out how to use it. Penny could access Quentin’s dreams while awake, so maybe Quentin could access the other end of these symbols the same way. Except he wasn’t psychic and had no clue how any of it worked. The books weren’t terribly helpful either, but it did give him some Latin words to meditate on. There was a word he didn’t recognize, but the rest had to do with the end of a road. He repeated them over and over, knowing he was going to try them next time he was in the mental hospital. Was that tomorrow? Were there really only 326 days? An even 365 would be more convenient.

Julia was the first to emerge after about half an hour and she mumbled a greeting to him before starting a fresh pot of coffee. “So did you know Eliot stayed up all night because he thought I wouldn’t want him around?” he asked. It felt like an accusation, but he didn’t mean it to be. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t want it to be. 

It was definitely too early to be asking her questions like that. To her credit, she did her best to look alive as she engaged him. “We all sort of agreed. You seemed… really off, Q.” 

He sighed. “No walking on eggshells around me, okay? Every day for you is almost a year for me. I’m not the same Quentin who falls asleep here every night. I mean, I am. I’m not… I’m not _your_ Quentin. But… you know what I mean.” 

“Okay, no more eggshells,” she agreed easily. Julia began pulling some bagels out of the cabinet and popped one in the toaster. “You were just acting like…”

“Whatever you’re going to say is probably correct, but it doesn’t matter. I’m past it.” 

He was lying and she probably knew it just as well as he did, but thankfully she also seemed to know he couldn’t bear to be called on it. He didn’t “lose his shit” as Eliot had so eloquently put it anymore, not really, but he still couldn’t bear the thought of being with someone. He shuddered at the thought of having to be naked even when he was alone. Still. He almost asked her if it ever got better, if it ever felt normal again. This Julia wasn’t his Julia, though. He didn’t know if it had happened to her, and he didn’t want to talk about it. He couldn’t yet. 

“Bagel?” she offered. 

He could still sense the eggshells beneath her feet, and he hated it. He couldn’t blame her. He would probably do the same in her position, but it was so much worse to be treated like he was broken. It made it real, and it was never more real than when he was with people who loved him. 

“Sure.” He nodded mechanically. It had only been a couple days for them. He had to remember that. Barely any time had passed for them since his flashback, and he knew it had been bad. It felt so far away for him. He took the bagel as she passed him a block of cream cheese and a knife. He spread it on just in time to pass it to her for bagel number two. Margo came in then and Julia popped in a third bagel without even asking. Margo took the seat next to him that Eliot had been occupying not too long ago and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Morning,” he greeted. 

“Is it? I’m ready to go back to sleep.” 

Quentin laughed and leaned his head on hers. “Eat a bagel. Drink some coffee. We’ve got places to be today.” 

Julia stood on the other side of the counter and ate as Quentin caught them up on what Eliot had done during the night. They both agreed to let him sleep and thankfully their talking didn’t wake him. Julia scribbled him a quick note before they finally headed out. Julia led them to a safe house where they proceeded to take several different portals and ended up somewhere in Nowheresville Ohio to speak with someone only called Za. 

Quentin was picturing scarves and bangles, but the person they met was a blond guy with a buzz cut and board shorts. “What’s up?” he asked in a perfect rendition of a surfer voice. 

Quentin knew his mouth was hanging open but he couldn’t seem to close it. “You’re, uh-?”

“Za, Brakebills class of ’96,” he grinned. Quentin shook his hand and continued to stare. “So, I’ve been looking at the drawings they sent over, and I think we’re looking at a garden-variety possession/mind control kind of deal.” 

Za led them into a shabby-looking office and erased a section of chalkboard that had some complicated equations all over it. They must not have been too important. “So, you’ve got this one here-“ he said, drawing one of Quentin’s scars, “-and then this one, which allow a caster to kind of possess the target when you combine them. Allows the caster to control thoughts, actions, words, etc. Then you’ve got this one-“

Quentin stared at the next symbol. It was like an anchor and was really close to one of his scars, but something was just slightly different about it. He couldn’t decide if Za hadn’t drawn it correctly or if Quentin wasn’t remembering it correctly. It was so close that it could be the same symbol. “This one can go a number of ways depending on some of the permutations. It usually keeps the subject from traveling too quickly between dreams. Which actually fits pretty well with your other symbols because if the possession was a dream possession, this one would allow the caster to keep the target in a certain scene, right? So this is all theoretical, right?” 

“Right, yeah.” 

Za clearly didn’t believe them, but he didn’t seem to care about anything but deniability. “Alright, so this one here is a sort-of dark one. It’s not really a dark kind of thing, but it’s still classed as dark magic because it prevents the subject from being killed. Personally, that seems kind of light/healing magic to me, but nope, nah. Dark.” 

Quentin squinted at it. It sort of looked like one of his scars, but that one was definitely not it. This guy was a quack. He was drawing more symbols that looked sort-of right but weren’t, and then suddenly he was drawing with one hand and holding a slice of pizza in another. “And this last one is like a fertilizer rune. Helps plants grow. And… that’s it. That’s what I have for you. Questions?” 

“No, that seems pretty clear,” Quentin said before Julia could say anything. This was useless. It was like he took the symbols, found something similar and just thought _Tubular, totally good enough, dude._ Or at least that was what he sounded like in Quentin’s head. “Hungry?” Za asked and Margo, who had been staring at him with a look of utmost concentration finally spoke. 

“Wait a second,” she said slowly. “Do people call you Za because-“

“Because I really love the ‘za,” he confirmed and Margo’s face almost made the whole outing worth it. 

“Okay, well we have another appointment so we have to go.” 

Margo grabbed Julia by the hand to tug her out and Quentin didn’t give her a reason to grab his. He had been done with this guy for at least half an hour. 

Eliot was predictably pissed when they got back even once Quentin had assured all of them that it had been a waste of time. “The only thing he told us was something you figured out last night, so.” 

Eliot suggested they order pizza, but that suggestion was quickly shut down and they ordered Thai food. “Okay, but we’re not ordering this every day, right?” Eliot remarked dubiously as they all sat down with it. They put on some Netflix and Julia seemed put off by Quentin siding with Eliot and Margo on America’s Next Top Model, but she didn’t argue. She was outnumbered, after all. She wasn’t exactly won over by the end, but she didn’t seem quite as averse. Quentin didn’t know when he got won over, but he had a feeling it was related to a certain Margo he’d married at some point. 

Julia got up first, kissing each of them on the cheek before she headed to bed. Quentin tucked his feet so that he was sitting cross-legged on the sofa as more space turned up. Margo was the one who turned off the TV. “So no one else is going to bring it up, but it’s definitely something we need to talk about.” 

“It’s really not.” Eliot beat Quentin to it. He wasn’t looking at either of them. “We agreed, Margo. We are here for Quentin while he rides the big kid ride, not the other way around.” 

“And this is us being here for Quentin,” she argued. “Letting him stew is not-“

“Margo, I know you are really blunt and have no filters and I love that about you, I do, but for once-“

“Oh, my god, Eliot. You are the one person in this quad who hasn’t been raped, so I think you are the last one who should be deciding whether or not it needs talking about.” 

Quentin’s knuckles had gone white. Not only had it happened to Julia, but Margo too? “I, um…” He felt sick. 

“Margo,” Eliot hissed. 

“No, um, it’s, uh… it’s-it’s okay,” Quentin stammered. “I mean, it’s not, but it, uh… Margo?” 

“Relax, no one’s going to make you do or talk about anything. I just thought it was important that you knew that we knew, and that you weren’t alone. I mean, I was definitely a dick to Julia and I’m not proud of that, but I’m better about it now. Seeing it happen to someone else and seeing her kind of lose her shit over it made me… Well, we’ll say I was a little affected by the reminder and I was… more unkind than usual. So… remember that when you go back and I’m being… a dick.” 

“Was that supposed to be a pep talk?” 

“No, Quentin. I don’t really do pep talks. I just… We just love you and want you to know that we’re here, okay?” 

“Okay, well… Can you just… be you? I just want to forget about it and it’s kind of hard when everyone’s treating me like I’m broken. Which, maybe I am, but can you just… be normal? Around me?” 

Margo nodded and stretched out so that her head was in Quentin’s lap and her legs were in Eliot’s. “Better?” she asked. Quentin nodded. “More garbage?” 

She didn’t even wait for a reply before turning the show back on. Quentin smiled a little. He wished he could stay here, that he didn’t have to wake up somewhere else tomorrow. Even when he woke up in Fillory, it didn’t quite compare.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Trigger warning in the end notes.
> 
> Ooh, y'all. Y'all. It's been nine months. Call this chapter a baby because that's how long it took. I told myself i was going to keep writing chapters of this while i was working on a different fic, but apparently i instead wrote 144k of the other fic and zero of this. (The other fic is Star Trek, my first in that fandom, so don't get too excited unless you're about Star Trek and Tarsus IV.) 
> 
> I make zero promises about when the next chapter of this will be out, only that it is not abandoned. It could be a while because my head is mostly on that other fic. If you choose to hold off on this chapter until i build some more up, i will not be insulted in the least.
> 
> Incidentally, this is why i've made the choice to (from here on out) post things in their entirety after they're completed instead of risking the WIP effect.

Quentin wasn’t exactly relieved to wake up in the hospital again, but it was a small comfort to see the nurse who spoke words to him and blessedly let him sit on the toilet, alone, unsupervised while he did his business. His muscles were still twitchy at the thought of someone holding onto him and listening as he peed. Realistically, she could probably still hear him through the door, but he had the illusion of privacy and that was enough for now. 

He was given a tray of food and a cup of pills and was left in his room to consume them. Hiding the pills in his pillowcase (pill-owcase, his brain supplied), Quentin wolfed down the food before sitting back and using the words that were supposed to let him travel to the other end of the dream-rope. 

His skin tingled on the relevant scars, but otherwise nothing seemed to be happening. He tried again and started to feel like he was finally getting somewhere when the door opened and there was Nurse Ratchet, looking fit to burn Hell to the ground. She turned his chair roughly and he was jostled by the quick, stunted acceleration as she wheeled him out to a table in the main room. He was given paper and crayons and abandoned. 

Others filtered in, and Quentin tried not to wonder what Penny was doing there. There was drool on his friend’s face and Quentin shivered a little. He wanted to wipe it away, but the wheelchair was a partner chair. He couldn’t wheel it himself if he wanted to. 

Suddenly, before Quentin could contemplate the logistics of pulling himself by the tables, the girl did it. She wiped Penny’s face carefully and tenderly. The movement itself was arresting and it wasn’t until she looked up and saw him watching that he realized it himself. She looked away quickly, but Quentin wasn’t having that this time. “Wait,” he said, just loudly enough for her to hear, but not loudly enough to be considered disruptive. 

She hesitated before sitting on the side next to him and pretending to color with some of the paper and crayons. 

“I know you,” Quentin told her again. She seemed just as afraid as last time, but at least she wasn’t running away. “I mean, I don’t. I have no idea what your name is, but I’ve seen you. You’re real, aren’t you? You know something. You know that this place isn’t real.” 

“Those words aren’t conducive to healing,” she murmured in response. 

“Neither is being locked up and told everything I know is fake.” 

“Learn to believe it,” was all she said and Quentin couldn’t help but feel like she had seen her fair share of shitshow, even if it was a different feature. She was scared and that scared him as well. But he needed to know. 

Looking straight at her, hoping to meet her eyes and having those hopes dashed, he said firmly, “Where are we?” 

She looked painfully tense. “Locked up.” 

“No, this place isn’t real,” Quentin insisted. 

“Locked. Up,” she repeated and met his eyes for a meaningful moment before pushing the paper away and standing. 

“What’s your name?” Quentin asked, desperate to keep her from leaving. She was the only reality in this unreal place and he didn’t want to let her go. In a way, she assured him that he was still sane, that he hadn’t made it all up in his head. 

She didn’t stop moving. “Victoria,” she replied before hurrying away. 

With a defeated sigh, Quentin’s gaze fell. It landed gracelessly on what she’d been drawing. A girl in chains dominated the page or, more accurately, the chains did. The girl was small and limp in the plethora of dark lines. There was nothing to indicate that they were chains, but somehow Quentin knew it wasn’t just rope. 

Suddenly a sickening feeling pulled at his middle and it was all he could do not to vomit. He shut his eyes, trying to will away the dizziness and when he opened them, he was in a stone cell. He was overwhelmed by chains just like the girl in Victoria’s picture. 

“Ah, Quentin. There you are.” 

He looked up into the face of the Beast, his eyes wide with terror. 

“No, don’t speak. You’ll ruin that perfect look of surprise on your face.” 

Quentin opened his mouth, determined not to give Martin what he wanted, but failing. His throat was tight and all the words had been choked out of it. 

Martin _laughed_. He laughed like Quentin had made some kind of joke. 

“Good, because I’ve been waiting far too long for this day. Torturing you into insanity has been loads of fun, Quentin. I mean that, I really do. You’ve been such a good sport with all the screaming and the pleading and then the hoping that you really were in a sanitarium. But I’ve been waiting for this.” 

“For what?” Quentin rasped out. His throat was bone dry and speaking hurt. 

“For you to fuck up that spell. For that wide-eyed innocence in your eyes, the light of hope that you can go back and stop me, and most importantly… that light going out when I tell you that I know exactly who you are and that this…” Martin traced one of his scars in a way that made Quentin feel more violated than he had in prison, “makes it impossible for you to die. You can’t go back, Quentin. You’re stuck in my future.” 

“No,” Quentin shook his head. 

“You’ll kill yourself in another timeline? Is that what you were going to say?” Martin’s knowing smile made Quentin want to puke. “I think you’ll find that scar has been following you, dear Quentin. I’ve been watching you and oh, it has been fun. I really like the one where you’ve only got one leg. It’s fun to watch you flop around.” 

“I don’t… flop around.” 

Martin only chuckled, and it was argument enough. Unfortunately, there was no way for Quentin to defend against it. Pulling out a knife, his captor drew some red lines lazily between the symbols. “You know, most of these don’t even mean anything? I just made them up. I get bored, you know. Not today, though. You and Victoria have been very naughty and it’s her turn to pay for it.” 

“Leave her alone,” Quentin commanded with a force he didn’t know was in him. 

Martin only cocked his head sideways. “Quentin, I think we both know it hurts you more to see others injured than to endure anything I can do to you. Besides, you barely know her. Not like you were supposed to. Not like you would if you could get back.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“I assume you bonded over both being my prisoners. I tortured you both, kept you both immobilized in chains… Real, bonding experiences. Anyway, speaking of torture.” 

Martin gave him a shrug and inclined his head in farewell as he locked Quentin up alone in the barren room. Whatever had been done to him here, it took its toll. Quentin passed out and woke Eliot with screaming before crying into his shoulder for what felt like forever and then finally just lying quietly until he woke up with Margo. He realized he’d skipped the Quentin who’d given him permission to die. 

Shit. 

Lying to Margo wasn’t his first choice, but he told her he wasn’t feeling well anyway. She didn’t question it and he managed to fall asleep again and wake up in the shithole. It was fairly empty and he spent several hours thinking about what the Beast had told him. The scar was there. The one that Martin claimed wouldn’t let him die. Quentin wasn’t about to let him win. Finally, mind made up, he rushed to the kitchen of the shithole and grabbed a knife, immediately attempting to take his life. It was bloody and he collapsed and suddenly there was Eliot coming through the front door. 

Quentin wasn’t dying. 

He felt like shit, but he wasn’t dying. 

“Quentin-!”

Eliot was crying and Quentin wished he had thought this through. They got him bandaged up and Eliot seemed incapable of putting more than two feet of space between them now. “I can’t believe you would-“

“I can’t die,” Quentin interrupted him, relaying the whole story before Eliot could say something inane like _You can’t die?_ because Quentin was so fucking tired of repeating himself and having other people repeat himself. 

Blessedly, Eliot didn’t ask any questions. He just wrapped Quentin in a hug and held him and Quentin relaxed. “I wish there were more of this,” he confessed. “I know I should be doing something, but I just want to sleep. El, I’m so tired.” 

“Sleep then. I’m not going anywhere,” Eliot promised. 

“But I am,” Quentin whispered. “If I sleep, I just immediately wake up in another timeline. Sometimes I’m used to it. Mostly I’m used to it. But every now and then, it just catches up with me, how tired I am.” 

Eliot was gently scratching up and down his spine. “I know we’re just mutually self-destructing, but I’m glad you’re not dead.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Eliot confirmed. “But you’re cleaning up the mess in the kitchen.” 

Quentin actually laughed a little. He was so grateful for Eliot and his quips. “I love you so much,” he said before he could think better of it. Eliot tensed slightly. “Relax. I’m not your Quentin, though I might be stuck as him forever.” 

It suddenly occurred to Quentin that that forever might be literal. If he truly couldn’t die, he’d outlive everyone no matter what. Loneliness overwhelmed him and he hugged Eliot a little tighter. “So are we going to have sex or are you still too freaked out by the idea that we’re fuck buddies?” 

Quentin pulled free at that, but aside from one lonely spike of panic, he was calm. 

He met Eliot’s eyes and tried to keep his voice steady. “That’s not it. Something happened to me along the line and I’m not… I don’t know. I’m not freaked out by the idea of us being together. Not romantically, anyway. We end up that way in so many realities. At this point, I’m almost glad I can’t go back because the idea of building all that from scratch…”

“Can’t go back?” 

“No repeating or echoing me. Please. Especially not as a question.” 

“Okay,” Eliot agreed, though he clearly found the request unreasonable. “I’d repeat my understanding, but apparently that’d be breaking the rules.” 

“Yes, it would,” Quentin confirmed. He grew quiet, thinking about the implications of being unable to die, unable to go back to his own time. How the fuck was he supposed to save everyone now? He’d gone through all of this torture for nothing. He’d gathered all this information for not a goddamn reason and now he had to live out eternities with no sleep and no constancy. 

“You look broody.” 

Quentin sighed and shrugged. “I feel broody.” 

“I know a really good cure for that, you know.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Sex.” 

Quentin should have seen that coming. Apparently depriving this Eliot of sex for two days was too much for him. “I can’t.” 

“We’ll take it slow. You can stop me at any time.” 

Quentin was about to say he was stopping Eliot now, this was the time he chose, but then he didn’t want to. It had been over a year since it Happened and Quentin was tired of being afraid. He wanted to be himself again, and maybe this wasn’t the way to go about it, but what else was he going to do? He was stuck in an eternal shitshow and might as well enjoy himself. And who was he going to trust more than Eliot? 

“Go slow,” Quentin conceded. “I’m not gonna make it all the way to sex. I’m telling you now.” 

“That’s okay,” Eliot assured him, drawing so close that Quentin could feel Eliot’s breathing against his lips. He shivered a little. “We can enjoy ourselves without your dick in my ass.” 

Maybe the words should have brought something negative out in him, but Quentin was too shocked that it had never occurred to him that he might top Eliot. He didn’t have time to think about it as Eliot’s lips made contact with his own. The kiss was impossibly gentle, as if Eliot could sense somehow that Quentin was fragile and that this was uncertain ground for him. They kissed slowly and almost chastely for quite a while before Quentin leaned forward and cupped Eliot’s face before deepening the kiss. 

It was fitting that it should be this Eliot, the one who probably had the least feelings for him. This Eliot wanted sexual gratification, but Quentin wondered if something else might be underneath. He wondered if the Quentin of this reality was just using Eliot, if the dead look in his eyes was the look of someone who had the person they wanted, but not the love of that person. Quentin kissed him harder, desperate to prove to him that he was loved, that Quentin valued him, that he was worthy. 

Eliot palmed Quentin’s cock through his jeans and Quentin was surprised to realize that he was actually turned on. Their breaths were shallow, their kisses becoming more and more open-mouthed. Eliot’s hand withdrew and Quentin didn’t mind. He could get lost in these lips. And why not? What else was he going to do now that his quest was over? 

Eliot pulled away and slid to his knees, reaching hesitantly for Quentin’s belt. “Okay?” 

Quentin hesitated for just a moment before nodding his consent. 

Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, but Eliot was amazing at blowjobs. Quentin felt like every molecule in his body was vibrating as Eliot worked his magic. Quentin felt his hand reach out and grasp Eliot by the hair, eliciting a moan from the man that reverberated around his own cock. Quentin let out a slew of profanity before coming hard. Eliot leaned forward, mouth still full, and Quentin realized he’d been jerking himself off the whole time. With a final moan around Quentin’s sensitive member, Eliot came too and something good settled in Quentin’s stomach. Something besides the orgasm. Maybe even something better. 

For the first time since it Happened, Quentin felt normal. He felt like he could be normal. 

Pulling Eliot close, Quentin pressed their lips together and pulled him toward the bedroom. He felt boneless and ready to sleep, even if that just meant waking up somewhere else with considerably more rigid bones. Eliot curled into him and Quentin held him tight as he kissed the man’s hair. 

He really wanted to skip the realities without Eliot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for attempted suicide.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are NO new warnings, just continued aftermath of previous situations. The end note contains actual SPOILERS.
> 
> This is the BTS edition of the a/n's! For fun, you could leave me a comment with either a request for an AU (for one of the days i haven't written out) or tell me where you think this fic is going because i feel like it's so obvious but no one seems to have gotten it? Or you're just too nice to mention? idk (I think the non-spoiler way i can prove that i have a specific ending in mind is to say the word "graffiti" because you'll understand when you get there and it couldn't happen without the plan i have in mind. I'm not asking anyone to write anything for me.)
> 
> I'm working on a secret Marvel/MCU fic for a secret pseud account on top of that previously mentioned Star Trek series (on this account), so my focus is so terrible ahaha but last week's episode gave me feelings about AUs and ships so hey wow a chapter, maybe more???

Quentin went with Julia to see the same professor about his scars, though it was nothing he didn’t already know. He sat through the same visit with both legs multiple times after that, and just about every combination of limbs, eyes, and friends possible. He was ready to wake up in the hospital where Alice spoon-fed a catatonic Penny if for no other reason than she didn’t know he was from the past and there would be no visit to Professor Formian. 

He was fully prepared to find himself in a hospital bed, but instead he woke up in an unfamiliar place, with an unfamiliar-smelling person, and as soon as he shifted to see Penny spooned up behind him, a dull stinging in his side reminded him why. 

Quentin’s pulse sped up and Penny woke immediately, backing off without a word. He could probably hear Quentin thinking about how much his ass hurt, could see Quentin’s memory of the knife scraping his waist. “I’m fine,” he lied. 

“You’re not.” 

“I’m more fine than you think I am,” Quentin insisted. He didn’t know Penny as well as everyone else, wasn’t in love with him like everyone else he’d been with so often, but he still wanted that warm comforting presence back. Maybe the fresh pain should remind him into a panic attack, but it didn’t. He wasn’t healed, but he was basically okay, all things considered. His back was cold now that Penny wasn’t behind him, and Quentin was the kind of bone-weary that followed him between realities, the kind of bone-weary where he just wanted blissful unawareness, to not wake up without sleeping, to not have one day blend seamlessly into another. The closest he ever got to that was when someone held him. 

Slowly, Penny eased back toward him and, meeting no resistance, pulled Quentin back into his arms. The only problem was that Quentin needed more than that. He turned in Penny’s arms and buried his nose in the man’s shoulder. “Quentin?” Penny wondered aloud. 

“I’ve been cycling through,” he explained. “New rules, I guess. Too tired to figure out how to explain it. It’s been probably close to three years since I’ve been in this timeline.” 

The hug was more confident now and Quentin realized Penny could probably still hear his thoughts. The man knew Quentin was comfortable with him, even if he wasn’t in love with him like he’d fallen with the others he’d seen so often. He probably should’ve figured out how to lock down his mental wards by now, too. 

“No shit,” Penny replied, but Quentin could hear the smile in his voice. Quentin melted a little as Penny traced his spine, and the motion continued- probably because Penny could literally read his mind to know that Quentin was enjoying it. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose.” 

“What?” 

“Reading my mind?” 

Penny buried his nose in Quentin’s hair. “Wasn’t. We agreed a long time ago that me in your head without you in mine wasn’t fair. I learned to shield my mind just like you did. I know you like your privacy, Quentin.” 

“Then what were you apologizing for?” Quentin frowned. 

His scalp tingled with Penny’s sigh. “Getting you hurt,” he said in a tight voice. “You wouldn’t have been in there if it wasn’t-“

“For some racist cop,” Quentin interrupted. “At least, from what I gathered before.” 

Quentin received the shock of his life when Penny let out a sob. Terrified, he hugged the other man tight as if somehow that might fix whatever was wrong. He tried tracing Penny’s spine, hoping it was as soothing for him as it was for Quentin. “Talk to me, Penny,” he said quietly, between painful-sounding sobs. He felt the turn of Penny shaking his head. “Please.” 

Penny’s grip on him was almost painful it was so tight. “You’re not my Quentin.” 

“Not yet,” Quentin replied easily. It felt like he was slowly becoming everyone’s Quentin. “But I still care about you.” 

Penny sniffled a little, but he didn’t move from where he had faceplanted in Quentin’s hair. “I’m scared all the time now,” he confessed quietly. Quentin placed a gentle kiss on the shoulder near his lips as he traced Penny’s spine. He didn’t even try to figure out his relationship to anyone anymore. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this with you.” 

Penny pulled away and actually got out of the bed. If Quentin had been cold before, when he pulled away, now he was frozen. Even though the blankets had only been pulled back long enough for Penny to get up, the blast of cold air from outside the cocoon chilled him deep. Quentin rushed to follow him, but grimaced in pain and almost fell as he remembered vividly the careful walk he’d adopted in this timeline and why. Gritting his teeth, he hurried after Penny anyway. 

“Quentin, we’re not doing this, okay?” he insisted, turning. Guilt was written all over his face and seemed to get bold and italicize as he saw the set of pain in Quentin’s jaw. “You’ve been through enough. And you and me? We don’t have that kind of relationship. I remember. I lived it.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t have any relationships when I cast that spell, but now I’m dating or married to pretty much everyone I know, so you can treat me like him. It’s fine.” 

“No, it’s fucking not!” Penny snapped. “It’s not fine! You think I don’t know what that spell was like for you? Jesus. Quentin. I’m not putting anything on you.” 

“Then you don’t know what this spell is like at all,” Quentin stated calmly even though he was pretty sure his side was bleeding. “All of you are what keep me going. I lo- I care about all of you. So much. And even if I’m with someone different every day, it’s still real. The more days I spend in each timeline, the more it becomes a part of me. The more that version of me integrates into this one. The stronger I feel your Quentin’s emotions.” 

Penny looked wrecked, so Quentin did the only thing he could. He approached and reached out a gentle hand. Penny flinched, but Quentin didn’t care as he cupped the man’s cheek. There was no way in hell he was going to let him suffer. He was going to say something stupid about how Penny didn’t have to talk to him, but maybe it would help, when he decided that words weren’t Penny’s style. Quentin leaned forward slowly and pressed their lips together. If that didn’t show Penny who he was dealing with, nothing would. He drew back slowly, his eyes soft. “I’m not broken,” he promised quietly. “You don’t need to be sorry about anything. What happened to both of us was shitty, and I’m going to fix all of it.” 

Penny scoffed and pulled Quentin into a hug. “You never could hear how fucking stupid you sound.” 

“Or I just never cared,” Quentin shrugged as he returned the hug. 

“You don’t have to fix everything, Quentin,” Penny told him. “Just live your fucking life.” 

Quentin shook his head as Penny released him. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t try to fix everything.” 

Penny sighed. “I know. Julia should be home soon. This is, uh. This is her apartment.” 

“Why…?”

“Because I’m pretty sure the first place they’re going to look for an escaped convict is his own apartment.” 

Quentin nodded. Right. He was a fugitive. He twisted his fingers to try to make sparks, but there was no magic in him. “I’m not much use to anyone like this.” 

“Yeah, well maybe Julia-“

As if on cue, they heard a key in the lock. Julia jumped when she saw them both in her apartment and stood in the doorway for two full seconds before rushing in and shutting the door with wide eyes. “What the fuck? Quentin, you’re supposed to be in prison!” 

“I know,” he replied sheepishly. 

“So what the fuck are you doing in my apartment? I’m an accessory to whatever this is!” 

“Julia-“

“No, Penny, let me,” he interrupted. He could speak for himself, thanks. “Not everything is your fault, you know. Penny broke me out because the guards were fucking me over. Figuratively. My cell mate, literally.” 

Julia stared at him, eyebrows high, as she tried to figure out if he was saying what she thought he was. “Q, I don’t…”

Quentin braced himself, swallowing thickly before finally managing to say the word for the first time. “Penny broke me out because I was raped, Julia. And the guards let it happen. Apparently they don’t like cop killers.” 

She laughed nervously like he was joking. “Quentin, that was yesterday. I know not everyone-“

“I’m not your Quentin, okay? Remember when I cast that spell at Brakebills? The probability spell? And I fucked it up? Your one day was like three years for me. I don’t seem like someone who was r-raped yesterday because I wasn’t.” 

“Q…”

“Can we just get over the part where I explain something I’ve explained like five million times and figure out what September fifteenth is?” 

“You told us to tell you if you ever…”

“Yeah. But I’ve been through this shitshow almost four times now and all I’ve got is a date and a version of me that thinks our best plan is to kill Hitler.” 

“That’s stupid even for you, Quentin,” Penny deadpanned. 

“Yeah, I know. I’ve had that conversation. More than once.” 

“Maybe it’s a code,” Julia suggested. “Maybe it means something else.” 

“What, like I meant Hitler as a code word? For what? The Beast? I know we’ve got to kill him.” 

Julia shook her head thoughtfully as she set down her groceries. “Maybe we need to go back in time somehow? I mean, I don’t know what good that will do, but that’s the first thing I can think of when you say that. We can probably find the-“

“But what are we going to do back in time, Julia?” 

“I don’t know, Quentin,” she replied. “But that’s how you and I got to Fillory.” 

Quentin sighed and then jumped backward into Penny as Victoria appeared in the middle of the room. “Victoria, what the fuck?!” he blurted out. 

“Thank god,” she sighed. “I heard about your escape on the _news_ , Quentin. We’ve got to get you a better hiding place, as if Julia’s place wasn’t the second place I looked. By the way, I delivered your message for you. September fifteen.” 

“Still me,” he told her. “Still not your Quentin.” 

“Then how do you know who I am?” she teased him. 

“Because in a couple days, I’m going to wake up in Fillory, trapped in a stone cell next to yours.” 

She flinched and backed up a couple steps to sit on the armrest of the couch. “Shit.” 

“Yeah,” Quentin replied. “Now, can we please figure out how to stop the Beast because I literally cannot die or get out of this spell in any way.” 

“Then we definitely need to kill Hitler,” Julia insisted. 

“Julia, we’re not killing-“

“I’m talking in code, Quentin. That’s how you get back. That’s how you stop him. You can’t return to your body, Q. Not by breaking the spell. So you have to get back a different way.” 

Quentin stared at her. He hadn’t thought of hijacking a future version of himself that way. “Oh.” 

He absently rubbed at the scar near his collarbone that essentially made him immortal. He didn’t want to outlive all of his friends, but at least if he went back, he’d survive to see them all again. And, if he could save them, he’d have them for as long as possible. “Plus I can’t die,” he realized suddenly. “If I can’t die, he can’t stop me. I can wear him down.” 

“ _That_ sounds like a plan,” Penny decided. His voice was close to Quentin’s ear and the time traveler realized he hadn’t moved very far after bumping into the world traveler. Without second guessing himself, he leaned back against the man and was rewarded with arms encircling his waist. Unfortunately, one of those arms brushed his wound and he hissed in pain, jerking sideways. “I’m sorry-“

Quentin shook his head. “My fault. I think I opened it up earlier…”

He drew up his shirt a little to look at it, feeling the damp spot from his blood. Penny’s hands were on him almost immediately before drawing back in remembrance. “It’s fine, you can touch me,” Quentin muttered in annoyance. He felt bad almost immediately. He needed to remember that this was new for everyone around him. They weren’t all sick to death of trying to navigate constantly changing relationships and feelings. 

“Let me,” Julia said as she approached. She cupped her hands over the wound and light glowed inside them. Quentin hissed, but then the pain was gone completely. At his awed look, she just shrugged. “A gift I never wanted.” 

“Holy shit, Julia. Did you even cast anything?” 

“Don’t make it a big deal, Q.” 

“Julia, you just healed me without anything.” 

“Quentin,” Penny interrupted. Suddenly he realized he must have stumbled into something they didn’t talk about. Ever. He leaned back again but this time Penny didn’t touch him. 

“Alright. We won’t talk about that. We’ll talk about how we’re going to kill Hitler.” 

“I think I can track it down,” Julia said as she began to put cold stuff in the fridge. “Shouldn’t take more than a day or two. Especially if Penny or Victoria are willing to give me a ride?” 

“Done,” Victoria replied quickly before Penny could abandon Quentin. He had a feeling the other man wanted to. 

Suddenly there was a hand in his and he wondered if Penny had been reading his thoughts. 

“Well, you think really fucking loud, Quentin. My shields are only so strong.” Quentin squeezed the hand and Penny dragged him to the bedroom and shut the door. “What? You’re tired.” 

Quentin’s gaze softened. “Yeah,” he admitted. 

“So come here. I can help.” 

Quentin did as instructed and melted into Penny’s neck. They stood that way for a moment before crawling back into the blankets and Penny went back to tracing the line of Quentin’s spine. “This is good,” Quentin murmured. “This is really good.” 

“I know. I’m amazing.” 

“Yeah, but I meant having a plan. Having hope.” 

Penny tucked his chin over Quentin’s head. “Good,” was all he said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now you know for certain that Q is going in order and that, if he's on a day where he's already lived it in that reality, he just skips it until the rest of the loop catches up to where he fell asleep in that AU. I've been sitting on that one for probably a year. 
> 
> Here, have an excerpt from my cheat sheet. They go [where in Q's timeline] (next date of September when he wakes up there) - summary of what has happened in that reality so far, sometimes by day, sometimes not (spoiler, Q miscounted and it's 327 days, not 326.)(that has no significance to the plot, he just forgot to count either prison or on-the-run since he didn't wake up in either of those again. and i thought it was unrealistic for him to get 100% accurate count)
> 
> 325 - (11) Big happy fucking poly family, my favorite, I love them, the end. Alice & Penny are dead. Eliot has suspicions about what’s going on with Q. Probably everyone else, too. They meet Za who is mostly wrong about everything except pizza being good, Margo tells Q they all know.  
> 326 – (11) Fucking Fillory. Alice is dead. Julia knows. Day two??? Three????
> 
>  
> 
> So, yeah. I've been staring at "324 – (11) Prison...." for a couple go-rounds.
> 
> And, final BTS tidbit that i can't remember if i've already said... 15 september is my birthday and i picked it literally because i wanted something easy to remember so i wouldn't have to keep looking it up. And i'm seriously hoping on posting What Happens on that actual date because that'd be rad. If it all lined up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don’t know how this happened, but… there’s smut in this chapter and i’m so confused about how and why. Some might call it more smut-adjacent because i chickened out and faded to black after a bit lolololo  
> (SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON THREE FINALE, btw) So i really wanted a new reality reflecting the last episode and i knew exactly what i wanted it to focus on. (The first being that i disagree with some naming going on in the chat.) The hilarious part is that the first paragraph of this chapter was already written to be something else and i was thinking i’d have to rewrite/put it off, but it actually worked better than what i was planning and i have been cackling all damn night. Also i really wanted to write an entire slow burn just of this au but have neither the time nor motivation to do it right, so we’re going to skip the burn and just play in the ashes. And maybe we’ll overextend some metaphors.

Quentin woke screaming and alone. His heart was pounding painfully as he sucked in a lungful of air and sobbed it back out. He jerked away from the hands on him and tumbled from a bed to the floor. Martin had tortured him over and over, to the brink of unconsciousness only to heal him. It had been weeks if not months of being forcibly kept conscious through nearly endless physical and mental torture. Suddenly, he was enveloped in a body and he fought against it, sobbing and shoving blindly until he breathed in the smell of Eliot. Quentin grabbed desperately for him. 

“Good, Quentin, you’re awake!” he replied as he pulled away. “You sleep so _long_ sometimes. Is it ‘cause I hit you too hard again?” 

“W-what?” Quentin asked, his heart speeding back up. “M-Martin?” 

“I’m sorry, I just get excited, you know I do. I was really looking forward to learning Betrayal House and then you were so tired and I got so mad…”

“Betrayal… House?” he repeated stupidly, still not sure what was happening. 

“I don’t know, Quentin. You were going to teach me. It’s a game. We were going to _play_ , you promised.” 

“Eliot-“

“What?” Eliot asked, his face darkening. “Quentin, you know I don’t like when you call me his name.” 

“His,” Quentin repeated, feeling faint. Part of him was scared, but another part wasn’t so much. Was it just because of Eliot’s face? He seemed angry. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to. You just… look so much like him.” 

A hand slid against his face and Quentin didn’t entirely want to pull away. There was something hypnotic about not-Eliot. “Something’s wrong with you, Quentin. I want you to say my name.” 

“I- um,” he swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”

Eliot’s head tilted in a childlike confusion. “You don’t know me, do you? I want the truth.” 

“Do you remember, at Brakebills, when I screwed up that probability spell?” 

“I don’t want to talk about Brakebills, I don’t want to talk about before I found you.” 

“Right. Um. When did you find me, exactly?” 

“Outside a bookshop. You thought you were Brian, but I fixed you.” 

“I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to explain a little more than that… I’m kind of from the past, so I don’t remember anything past my first year at Brakebills.” 

“Oh.” Not-Eliot drew close, his nose almost touching Quentin’s as if getting closer could allow him to see the truth in his retinas. “I’m Hope. You freed me and then I found you. You take care of me. We play games.” 

“Yeah, I’m still not really, uh, really clear on what you mean. I… take care of you?” 

_Hope_ turned his head and burrowed into Quentin’s neck before allowing his entire weight to push Quentin’s to a prone position. Arms slipped under Quentin’s shoulders to hug him awkwardly. “You keep me safe. You were scared of me at first, but you aren’t anymore. You’re not like Ora.” 

“Who’s Ora?” Quentin asked, feeling strangely calm for someone whose entire personage was being used as a cross between a bed and a teddy bear. 

“She came to replace Pan,” Hope sighed and Quentin shivered a little as he felt stubble nuzzling against him. “She wanted Pan to leave, but I didn’t, so I hid him.” 

“Why did she want him to leave?” 

“Because they all seem to think everyone should leave the box but me. I was tired of everyone leaving, so I hid Pan. Just like I hid Eliot.” 

Quentin stiffened and Hope’s arms tightened painfully under him. “You’re not afraid of me, Quentin. Ora was afraid of me. She always wanted to play hide and seek. She thought I didn’t know it was because she wanted to get away from me, but I knew. I let her. I wanted her to see I wasn’t scary. You’re the first one. Quentin, you’re the only one who isn’t scared of me. You can’t be scared of me, you can’t.” 

Quentin felt the moisture before he heard the accompanying sniffle. “Hope, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to understand what you did to Eliot.” 

“I hid him. He was in the way, so I hid him just like I hid Pan. He killed Pan.” 

Quentin was only getting more and more confused, but he had a feeling the explanation wasn’t going to get any clearer. “Okay. It’s okay.” He patted Hope’s back awkwardly. “Pan and Ora called themselves caretakers, but they were jailers. They all think I’m dangerous, that I’m deceptive expectation, but I just want… everything. To be good. You’re a caretaker, Quentin. You take care of me. You don’t box me up and pretend not to forget about me.” 

Quentin grew a little less awkward, tracing Hope’s spine as he cried quietly. He took the time to really soak in the situation. He felt like he did love Hope, but it wasn’t a love he’d felt before with anyone else. He wanted to know if he missed Eliot, if Hope ever un-hid him, but he had a strong impression that line of questioning wouldn’t go over well. There was a dull ache when he thought of Eliot, like a loss that had mostly healed. “I love you, don’t I?” he tried instead. 

Hope kissed his cheek. “Yes, you do. I love you too, Quentin.” 

“It’s not… we’re not… I’m just really confused about who we are to each other.” 

“You said I’m like your little brother,” Hope replied easily. He sounded tired, but Quentin was now wide awake. 

“Always wanted a little brother,” he remarked, chest tight. For a large part of his childhood, Quentin had mistaken his depression for loneliness. He’d been convinced if he could just have a brother to play with, he’d feel bright and shiny all the time. Finding Julia had been the next best thing- and the thing that proved to Quentin that he could have all the friends in the world and still be miserable. 

Hope curled closer and Quentin couldn’t help but think he’d never met real brothers who were this affectionate, but he wasn’t about to complain. He felt warm and cozy and good, and he realized now that the big difference between this love and most of the other love he felt was that in place of sexuality and attraction, he felt protective. He ran his fingers through Hope’s hair in a way that he knew felt really good to Eliot, assuming that it would feel good to Hope living inside El’s body. Judging by the almost-purr the man let out, it was a correct assumption. “I can make your sadness quiet,” Hope murmured. “I hide it. I like when you’re happy, Quentin.” 

He floundered for words, wondering if Hope had psychic abilities and could hear his thoughts like Penny. “Do we… do we see anyone else? Ever?” 

“Sometimes we see your old friends, but they don’t like me very much. They think I killed Eliot.” 

“But I don’t think that,” Quentin said, meaning it as a question even if it came out as certainty. 

“I gave him a really nice hiding place,” Hope agreed. “I want to sleep now. Can we sleep now? Then, when I’m awake, I want to learn Betrayal House.” 

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” Quentin replied easily. It was easy to say when it was true. He could tell when Hope was finally asleep and Quentin cautiously extricated himself. Unfortunately, he managed to dump Hope on the floor and his eyes widened when he saw Quentin leaving. 

“Q-“

“I was just gonna let you sleep for a bit,” Quentin promised. “I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m just not tired since I…slept so long.” 

“Q, it’s me.” 

“Don’t worry, Hope-“

“Eliot,” he corrected. “Q, thank fuck, I was dying in there. What took so fucking long?” 

“Okay, so we’re going to have to back up a few years and you’re going to have to treat me like I’m the Quentin that fucked up a probability spell at Brakebills and landed himself in the future.” 

Eliot stared at him blankly before breathing out, “Holy fucking shit.” 

“I’ll wait.” 

“Holy fucking shit,” Eliot repeated. “Okay, yeah, so Hope over here hijacked my body and hid me in an arcade. I guess he thinks that’s a great place to be, but there is only so much pinball or Pac Man or goddamn _Galaga_ I can play before I wanna kill myself. When he sleeps, I can get out and talk to you.” 

Quentin breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank god. Jesus, I thought I was going to have to… I don’t even know. He said I’d been asleep a long time, which explains why I haven’t seen this place before.” Quentin scratched the back of his neck anxiously and wondered how many other realities he’d been unconscious and missed. Or dead. There were probably some where he was dead. 

“Fuck,” Eliot sighed. “That explains the black eye, at least. I’d ask what you did to piss him off this time, but apparently you weren’t there for it.” 

“Apparently I was too tired to teach him some kind of game,” Quentin replied absently. “What do you mean, piss him off?” 

“He acts like a kid, doesn’t really have a handle on his emotions,” Eliot replied as he stood and stretched. Quentin wondered if being trapped in your own mind felt like being unable to move. “You’re training him a little bit, but he’s strong and sometimes he beats the shit out of you.” 

“Wait, what? Why am I not scared shitless of him? He literally said we’re like brothers and I kind of believe him.” 

Eliot draped himself against Quentin much in the way Hope had, only the pair of them were standing this time. “He doesn’t do it on purpose. I think he’s a little shit and I’d kill him if I could, but you and your hero complex. It was an accident!” Eliot’s voice had taken on a mocking quality. “Quentin if he kills you, I will never forgive you.” 

“Uh.” 

“You’re the only one who can get him to sleep,” Eliot mumbled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a hard and dirty fuck before I’m confined to that fucking arcade again and you are in no shape to help me with that.” 

“Do I normally…? Help you? With that?” 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Normally? No. Every now and then, sure. But you make love, Quentin. You don’t really… fuck.” 

“Whatever that means,” he grumbled. Quentin wasn’t quite sure why he was so jealous over Eliot not wanting to sleep with him. He didn’t even feel like sleeping with anyone right now, so it wasn’t like he was volunteering. 

Eliot patted Quentin’s cheek and pecked him on the lips. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite real person.” 

“For your information, I’m fine at fucking. I just happen to not be in the mood,” he grumbled. 

“Of course you are, Q.” 

Quentin bristled at the patronizing tone and captured Eliot’s wrist before kissing him hard. To his surprise, the man actually responded. His body pressed against Quentin’s and suddenly there was an extra tongue in his mouth and he knew he should probably stop, but he was pretty sure this Quentin never got any adult time because he felt sexual frustration like he hadn’t even touched himself in months. Eliot was actually the one to pull away first. “I have to admit, I was kind of expecting you to back down.” 

Feeling a little breathless, Quentin resisted the urge to kiss Eliot some more. The lips he’d just been kissing were red and a little swollen, and he desperately wanted to paint them darker with more making out. “It’s been like a million years since I’ve had sex with anyone and I’m pretty sure I spent half of them being tortured by the Beast, so honestly I take whatever I can get.” 

“That is the worst dirty talk I’ve ever heard, Q.” 

“It wasn’t-“

“This is what I mean about you making love, Q. You’re gentle and loving and-“

“Okay, cock. Dick cock, fuck, shit, cock cock cock,” Quentin rattled off. “Better?” 

Eliot laughed so hard he ended up leaning on Quentin for support. When he finally started to wind down, Quentin only raised his eyebrows in a silent _Are you done now?_

“Sorry, Q, but even you know that was funny. Unless you weren’t joking. You were joking, right? You don’t actually think that’s dirty talk?” 

Quentin leaned forward, pressing a slow and filthy kiss to Eliot’s mouth before leaning in to his ear to rumble, “Why would I talk dirty to you when I could use my mouth for other things?” 

Eliot actually shuddered and Quentin grinned wickedly. His triumph was short-lived however, as Eliot suddenly had his tongue in Quentin’s mouth and they were both panting and horny as hell. In spite of his promises, Eliot was the one to escalate, sinking to his knees and almost buckling Quentin’s in return as he gave the best blow job Quentin had ever experienced in his life. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Quentin exclaimed, clutching Eliot for support as he hummed. 

Right before Quentin lost it, Eliot pulled away, jerking his pants down and giving Quentin an eyeful. He hadn’t done this before, not with a guy. When he’d cheated with Eliot and Margo, he’d fucked Margo, not Eliot. They’d kissed, touched each other, but they hadn’t gone this far before- not even in any of the previous futures. “Wait,” Quentin panted, coming down slightly from the cruel edging Eliot had put him through. “I haven’t…”

“Don’t worry,” Eliot insisted. “I can get myself going and I don’t completely mind if it hurts a little.” 

“That’s uh… that’s new information,” Quentin breathed. 

“Oh, Quentin, it’s cute that you’re surprised I’m a little kinky.” 

Quentin dropped to his knees, trying to swallow the awkward nervousness rising in the back of his throat. “Surprised might, uh, might not be the right… word.” 

Eliot sat back on his heels and turned halfway to look at Quentin. “We don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “If you’re even a little uncomfortable, we’ll stop.” 

Quentin swallowed and gave him a weak grin. “You’re just trying to trick me into saying something awkward so you can claim I’m shit at dirty talk again.” 

Eliot turned all the way around to give Quentin a serious look. “The only think I’m ‘just trying’ is to make sure you’re not doing something you’ll regret, Q. I like my partners willing. In fact, it’s pretty much my only limit, here.” 

“I just don’t want to screw this up,” he confessed. “I haven’t… with…”

“Me?” 

“Any guy,” Quentin rushed out, his cheeks heating up at the admission. “I want to, I’m just kind of… nervous.” 

Eliot gave him a small, gentle kiss. “You aren’t going to screw it up,” he promised. “All you have to do is stick your dick in me and move. Preferably fast. And hard.” 

Quentin laughed a little. “I think you might be hornier than I am, and I’m pretty sure your Quentin has been celibate for months.” 

“Yeah, but he can still-“

“I’m pretty sure he can’t touch himself either. Hope seems like an always-around kind of guy…”

“Oh my god, I was wrong. I have a second limit and it is Hope talk. Do not mention that parasite to me or I am never letting you near my body again.” 

“Duly noted,” Quentin replied before leaning forward to capture Eliot in his arms. “I’d rather talk about what I’m gonna do to you anyway.” 

Eliot shivered in what looked like a good way and Quentin realized suddenly that he might like his being in control almost as much as Eliot seemed to. 

Quentin didn’t think it should have been as simple and natural as it was- first time awkwardness aside. Being with Eliot always felt right, in every new dynamic. He fell asleep with his body sparkling and woke with residual contentment in a different Eliot’s arms. 

“You seem like you’re in a good mood, sleepyhead,” Eliot murmured. 

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed. “Hey, so this is random, but… are you secretly but unsurprisingly kinky?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really angsted over Hope’s gender. Like REALLY angsted because this was honestly such a great opportunity for an agender character. But i also really liked the idea of a masculine person being called a traditionally feminine name because that never happens. I also angsted over the ratio of male to female characters. I’m a mess is what i’m saying. In the slow burn i’ll probably never write, Hope and Q have an actual conversation about gender and Hope literally chooses one, unlike trans people, being trans isn’t a choice, please don’t leave me flames, i know all about it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna remind everyone that this fic has a happy ending, i'm not planning on killing any of our mains (AUs notwithstanding), but there is a ********************NEW WARNING*************** in the end notes. 
> 
> That aside, i'm so ready to just get to the 15th and i'm only on the 12th. Esp because, in my wildest dreams, i actually post the chapter with the plot of the 15th ON the 15th.

Quentin woke to the beautiful smell of bacon wafting through the air. It was dancing with the scent of coffee and he practically rolled out of the bed, following his nose to the source of the smell. “Is it my birthday?” he asked groggily. 

“No, it’s September, baby,” Margo replied. “Speaking of, which Quentin-“

“Still me,” he confirmed. She flipped a pancake and it landed rather badly, though she seemed both unsurprised and unperturbed by this turn of events. 

“Look, I was making you breakfast so I could apologize for flipping out on you yesterday-“

“It’s fine, you-“

“But then I decided to make you breakfast and remembered that I’m terrible at it and you, my you, keeps insisting we don’t buy a waffle maker even though I literally cannot flip a pancake, so I’m feeling a bit less sorry.” 

Quentin was at a loss for words. The non-apology was delivered in typical Margo fashion, as if it didn’t matter and carried no weight. That more than anything made Quentin certain that it was important. He crossed over to her and took the pan. He wasn’t very good at pancakes either, but he was pretty sure he was better than Margo. He scraped the shredded, battery mess into the trash and dripped a circle of the mix into the pan, watching for bubbles. 

Quentin really looked at her as she cupped his cheek. He didn’t like the look on her face, like she was already dreading losing him. Tenderly, she traced his hairline and combed through his hair to cradle the back of his head. Finally steeling her sad gaze, she began to tell him what really mattered. “We agreed no more Fillory because it ruined our lives, Quentin. It’s gotten almost everyone we know killed. It’s why we can’t ever have a family and I don’t know if that’s something you want now, but it is something you wanted with me. And every time I see one of those books or hear something about them, I just…”

Quentin pushed the pan away from the burner so he could focus on the woman now crying in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair and didn’t feel awkward at all when she tilted her face up to kiss him. “If it helps, he hid it. He didn’t want you to have to see it.” 

“Yeah, because that asshole is on the same quest you are. Well, jokes on both of you because this marriage is destined for short life anyway. So let’s just get it over with. What does he want you to do?” 

“I’m still not completely sure,” Quentin admitted before going into the current plan, to travel back in time, to use the immortality Martin had carved into him to their advantage, to wear him down. 

“That’s stupid,” Margo replied, a bit calmer than she had been. “The Beast wasn’t an idiot, Quentin. He knows you can travel back and he clearly knows what that rune does.” 

“No, but that’s the beauty of it,” Quentin insisted. “Why would I do that? He put it on me so he could torture me without me dying on him. He wasn’t thinking about how I could-“

“Of course he fucking was, Quentin! Don’t you get it? That asshole wants to torture you endlessly! What better way than to make the noose and watch you hang yourself?” 

“Margo-“

“No, Quentin. You listen to me. I am not losing what little time I have left with my Quentin because you have to give that psychopath exactly what he wants for the millionth time. He is dead. He is dead now and we are supposed to be free of this steaming pile of shit, not shoveling it into our bed.” 

“You’re dying,” was all Quentin took away from what she said. No sooner had he said it than she turned her back on him and fuck if that didn’t sting the most. “Look, Margo, I’m sorry. I really, really am. But you know me. Maybe better than anyone. I can’t not try. I have to do this.” 

“I know,” she strangled out. “Always throwing yourself in front of bullets, never caring who you leave behind. That’s you.” 

Quentin tried to hug her but she pushed him away. “Not now, Q. I just need some space. I know I can’t stop you. Just don’t ask me to support you.” 

Quentin deflated as he watched her go and sank into the couch. He wasn’t going to get any help from this Margo. He moped for several minutes before returning to the kitchen to throw out another spoiled pancake and start over. They’d be cold by the time Margo came back, but he knew from experience that food was important when you were upset. Not eating only made it worse. With a sigh, he followed his own advice and ate a couple pieces of bacon as he cooked the batter into food. 

Deciding to at least try, Quentin put some butter and syrup on a plate of two before taking it to the bedroom and softly knocking. “Margo?” he asked quietly. If she was asleep, he didn’t want to wake her. 

“I said I wanted space, Q.” 

“I know, I just… I brought you some pancakes. If you don’t want them, I’ll wrap them up, but I figured…um, while they were hot…”

Margo opened the door with that angry, wounded look still on her face. “Why do you have to be so fucking sweet?” she demanded. 

“Um.” 

“Just… gimme those and I’ll be out when I’ve calmed down.” 

Quentin stood awkwardly with the plate until she took it. Then he stood awkwardly without the plate. “I just… I mean, you don’t have to be alone right now. I don’t have to talk. Especially about… things you don’t want to hear.” 

“I know,” she replied. “I know, Q. Just… a few minutes, okay? I need a few.” 

He nodded and she shut the door gently, but still in his face. Well, at least she was eating the pancakes. That was already more than he expected. He made himself a plate of just one. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he knew he should eat something and he had a lot of practice knowing when he should eat something. Depression did give him some important skills. 

When she finally returned to the kitchen, she silently rinsed the syrup from her dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher. Turning to Quentin, she was resigned as she said, “I know where you can find what you need to go back.” 

He woke up in Eliot’s arms in the shithole and curled in closer. He vaguely remembered messing around with this Eliot, both of them getting off without anyone fucking anyone. His body remembered better than his brain and it wanted to remain in contact with Eliot’s. Quentin knew he could be cuddly, but this was ridiculous. “Mm, morning,” Eliot smirked. 

Quentin slid against the man’s body until he could kiss him. They both had horrible breath, but neither seemed to care. He burrowed into Eliot’s neck. “We have to find some kind of time travel thing,” he murmured. “But it can wait.” 

Eliot laughed a little and the sound made Quentin’s heart sing, though it choked and let out a purr as Eliot’s hand was suddenly on his ass and Quentin’s hips involuntarily ground into Eliot’s. “Someone’s frisky,” Eliot remarked in amusement. 

“Someone’s got his hand on my-“ Quentin whined as Eliot withdrew the hand and touched him gently at the waist. 

“Tell me how we’re gonna fix the world,” Eliot requested quietly. There was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there previous days and that alone brought Quentin back to focus. He snuggled against Eliot, hugging him tighter because he looked alive and Quentin finally felt like it too. He was speaking the plan to this Eliot, but his mind was elsewhere, wondering about the future- specifically his own. Maybe he and Alice weren’t the end game. Maybe there was a reason besides her death that he ended up with Eliot in so many versions of the future. 

He kept thinking about it every single day until he saw her again in the hospital, feeding the still-disturbing catatonic version of Penny. He slipped into the room and took a seat without asking. Part of him thought he should have asked, but the overwhelmingly larger part of him was feeling dizzy and tired and didn’t want to try walking back to his room until his inner ear decided to function again. 

“Quentin? Are you alright?” she asked, and he deliberately ignored what she was probably asking. 

“Do you remember, back at Brakebills, when I cheated on you?” 

“What?” 

Shit, that was awkward. Quentin hadn’t even realized how far left field he was until the look on her face. “I’m just… I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately and… I mean, for a long time I thought you and I were meant to be, but now I’m just… confused. Everything used to be so clear, so black and white, but now there’s all these shades of grey and I don’t know which way is up.” 

His eyes followed her deft movements with the spoon as she wiped what really looked like baby food from Penny’s lip. “I don’t know what you’re asking me Quentin.” 

He sighed heavily. “Neither do I. I just… It’s like I’ve been cycling through hundreds of versions of myself and my life and they all feel so real, so natural… and how am I ever going to be any of them? I can’t choose or- or-“

“Quentin, you’re not making sense. Is this about that spell you fucked up? I didn’t hear too much about it, but it sounds like you’re talking about that spell.” 

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I just…” Before he could say _don’t know how to get to point B or what I even want point B to be_ , he doubled over, gagging and dribbling bile onto the floor. It felt like his internal organs were trying to shove their way out of his neck and he choked and coughed as acid burned his throat as if to help create an exit for them. Alice actually abandoned Penny, and somehow that was what stuck in Quentin’s mind, that he’d somehow managed to fuck up Penny’s meal. “Fine,” he rasped between heaves. “Shitty… meds… side effects.” 

He’d barely recovered a fraction of his dignity when Alice returned with a nurse. “Mr. Coldwater, you shouldn’t be this far from your room,” he told Quentin. “Dr. Erskine will have something to say to you about overexerting yourself.” 

“Yeah, I have some similar things to say to my stomach,” Quentin moaned. “Speaking of, are there any meds I can switch to that don’t do this?” 

The nurse crouched down and started to take Quentin’s pulse, looking into his eyes as if Quentin wasn’t looking back. “Mr. Coldwater, do you remember the medication you’re taking?” 

Quentin felt his cheeks burn as he tried to keep up the charade that he belonged in this time. Why it was so important to him to not tell this Alice who he really was, he didn’t know. He just wanted to be Quentin here. “Uh, I’m not really comfortable discussing-“

“You can answer with a yes or no.” 

“Yeah- yes,” he stuttered. 

“And do you remember the discussion of risks and side effects of your options-“

“Look, I know my mental health is shit, but this medication is making me feel worse than depression ever did, so- What is that face? Why are you making that face?” 

“You think you’re here for a depressive episode,” the nurse confirmed, looking grave and Quentin finally felt himself panic. 

“N-no,” he lied. “I know why I’m here.” 

Shit. Shit, what the hell was wrong with him if not the usual? 

“I’ll be back with a chair to take you to Dr. Erskine. Try to rest a bit.” 

Quentin watched in bemusement as the nurse left and only jolted out of it when Alice spoke. “Quentin…”

“I just want them to switch my-“

“You said you were okay,” she breathed. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Quentin insisted, though he now seriously doubted it. 

“You think I don’t know who Erskine is?” 

“Uh.” 

Alice actually reached out and touched him, grabbing his hand before seeming to think better of it and drawing back. “I wish you’d just told me.” 

He was just about to come up with an incredibly clever response when they both startled at a heavily slurred, “How d’you still think s’fucking loud?” 

Quentin’s eyes snapped up as quickly as Alice turned to look at Penny and before Quentin could stop himself, he was mentally listing all of the things he needed to not think about because Penny would hear it. 

“What the fuck?” Penny groaned, and it was all the confirmation Quentin needed that he’d been found out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, i feel like i've been beating y'all over the head (pun intended) with this, but i don't remember anyone mentioning it so maybe i was more subtle than i thought. (Also i wasn't sure if i was actually gonna do it/save it for a sequel.) Or i've just taken so long to update that i've forgotten everything everyone's ever said to me and everyone's asked about it. Anyway, SPOILER if it wasn't already obvious, Q has the same cancer his dad does.


End file.
